To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
Shakespeare
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
Dylan Thomas
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Jonathan Swift's list for old age; When I come to be old. 1699.
-Not to marry a young Woman.
-Not to keep young Company unless they reely desire it.
-Not to be peevish or morose, or suspicious.
-Not to scorn present Ways, or Wits, or Fashions, or Men, or War, &c.
-Not to be fond of Children, or let them come near me hardly.
-Not to tell the same story over and over to the same People.
-Not to be covetous.
-Not to neglect decency, or cleenlyness, for fear of falling into Nastyness.
-Not to be over severe with young People, but give Allowances for their youthfull follyes and weaknesses.
-Not to be influenced by, or give ear to knavish tatling servants, or others.
-Not to be too free of advise, nor trouble any but those that desire it.
-To desire some good Friends to inform me wch of these Resolutions I break, or neglect, and wherein; and reform accordingly.
-Not to talk much, nor of my self.
-Not to boast of my former beauty, or strength, or favor with Ladyes, &c.
-Not to hearken to Flatteryes, nor conceive I can be beloved by a young woman, et eos qui hereditatem captant, odisse ac vitare.
-Not to be positive or opiniative.
-Not to sett up for observing all these Rules; for fear I should observe none.
Pictures of Life
By Patrick McDonnell
There have been times in life, I wanted to capture.
Like a New Mexico sunset, they stay burned in my mind
Like when my son was born or the first time I kissed my wife.
The first time we danced, the ring I gave her on the river boat.
I see everyone's got millions of pictures on face book and instagram
Tweeting from here and yonder, like there is no tomorrow.
But the pictures of my life that stay in my mind, I take them out now and then.
Just to grin or to cry or to tear in two.
Like my father on his hospital bed, the man who was strong and true
Now shrunk and old, fighting for his last breath, taking his last flight
Reminding me of my grand dad, when his time had come.
We are all the same, we are born, we live a little and we die a lot.
It’s not how many pictures you take, but what you do between.
If you love and give, not take and be mean that will last longer.
A smile for your fellow man, a hug for your family. A kind word.
We walk around, not seeing what's going on, thinking we do.
I see the kids today, like me no doubt, in my younger days
I'd like to tell them, don't walk around your head in your phones
Life is passing you bye. The girl you just passed, she could've been your wife
Be kind to strangers, they could be angels in disguise, George used to say.
Chorus
Pictures of life, pictures of love.
They stay in your memory
when the light fades away
thats all you got, in the end.
Love at night
Oh life, life is so short. Shorter than God’s breath. Shorter than a child’s cry. A kiss is longer.
Till it fills the sky with its ecstasy.
A lover’s embrace takes up the universe.
Heart beats like drums beat out a message to one another.
Can you not hear it? Are you deaf?
Stars are so far away and cold at night.
Soft night.
Dear night.
Lovers cry out at dawn in the vacuum of space.
Are there other hearts beating in synchrony?
Is there a light left on in the dark night
To show the way to a lover’s heart?
