Freedom lies in being bold.
I hold it to be the inalienable right of anybody to go to hell in his own way.
The reason why worry kills more people than work is that more people worry than work.
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by. And that has made all the difference.
Carpe diem, quam minimus credula postero. [Seize today, and put as little trust as you can in tomorrow.]
Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori. [It is sweet and beautiful to die for your country.]
He who has begun his task has half done it. Have the courage to be wise; Begin!
Man is never watchful enough against dangers that threaten him every hour.
Many heroes are oppressed in unending night, unwept, unknown, because they lack a dedicated poet.
The covetous man is ever in want.
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The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heav’n of hell and a hell of a heav’n.
I call therefore a complete and generous education that which fits a man to perform justly, skillfully, and magnanimously all the office, both private and public, of peace and war.
~ John Milton, in Areopagitica and Of Education. Northbrook, IL: AHM Publishing, 1951. page 60
O why did god
Creator wise, that peopl’d highest Heav’n
With Spirits Masculine, create at last
This noveltie on Earth, this fair defect
Of Nature, and not fill the World at once
With Men as Angels without Feminine,
Or find some other way to generate
Mankind?
~ in Paradise Lost
Oft times, nothing profits ore than self-esteem, grounded on just and right.
~ in Paradise Lost
But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts
Benighted walks under the mid-day sun;
Himself his own dungeon.
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The love of learning, the sequestered nooks
All the sweet serenity of books.
A torn jacket is soon mended, but hard words bruise the heart of a child.
If we could read the secret history of our enemies we should find in each man’s life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility.
We judge ourselves by what we feel capable of doing, while others judge us by what we have already done.
He that respects himself is safe from others; he wears a coat of mail that none can pierce.
If you would hit the mark, you must aim a little above it; every arrow that files feels the attraction of earth.
In The Miracle of Language
There are three words in the English language with which no other words rhyme. Can you identify them?
Click on image
Thy way, not mine, O Lord,
However dark it be!
Lead me by thine own hand;
Choose thou the path for me.
Smooth let it be or rough,
It will be still the best;
Winding or straight, it leads
Right onward to thy rest.
I dare not choose my lot;
I would not if I might;
Choose thou for me, my God:
So shall I walk aright.
Take thou my cup, and it
With joy or sorrow fill,
As best to thee may seem;
Choose thou my good and ill.
Choose thou for me my friends,
My sickness or my health;
Choose thou my cares for me,
My poverty or wealth.
Not mine, not mine the choice,
In things or great or small;
Be thou my guide, my strength,
My wisdom, and my all.
~ Horatius Bonar
When my mother passed away a couple of months ago, people expressed their love and sympathy in a variety of ways. The following is a poem written by a family friend Utah Humphrey.
Verna Stilley
10-21-08
The road God gave you was a very steep climb,
But you bravely went forward day by day.
Clyde was the hero ministering to you
Being there to help you in the part he would play.
Now the long journey has come to an end
And on Earth you won’t suffer any more.
In Heave you are finally free at last
With this freedom you finally can soar.
I remember the years you became my friend
With lots of laughter I still can behold.
The tears I shed now will soon be gone
As I ponder your life as I saw it unfold.
Poor Clyde was often the key to your stories
And his face would turn red as he grinned.
In the room you would have everyone laughing
And through the years you did it again and again.
Leach and Cardin one entered a contest
And when it was over Leach had won.
We met at the camp grounds at GLBA
To fellowship and have lots of fun..
You were the pitcher when we played softball
And I don’t remember who won or who lost.
Both churches had added people to Sunday School
Without either group adding up th ecost.
The years seemed to pass by much too quickly
And retirement years had finally come about.
The price you paid in the last several years
Didn’t carry a lot of laughter or clout.
Please enjoy Heaven and the freedom you have.
We will all be joining you in just a little while.
I wished we could look into Heaven and see you now
With a life filled with laughter and a beautiful smile.
By faith we must keep walking onward toward Heaven
Knowing life down here for us is not through …
Sometimes we will pause during our journey
And when we do we’ll be thinking of you.
Good bye precious friend for just a while longer
And enjoy your new life absolutely free from pain.
We will see you tomorrow on Heaven’s bright shore
Where there’ll be plenty of sunshine without rain.
A friend in Christ,
Utah Humphrey
Four things a man must learn to do
If he would make the record true:
To THINK without confusion clearly;
To LOVE his fellowmen sincerely;
To ACT from honest motives purely;
To TRUST in God and heaven securely.
~ Henry Van Dyke
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LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats 5
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question … 10
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes, 15
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap, 20
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes; 25
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate; 30
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
In the room the women come and go 35
Talking of Michelangelo.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair— 40
[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]
Do I dare 45
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, 50
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all— 55
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways? 60
And how should I presume?
And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
It is perfume from a dress 65
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
. . . . .
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets 70
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
. . . . .
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully! 75
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis? 80
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, 85
And in short, I was afraid.
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while, 90
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”— 95
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.”
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while, 100
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen: 105
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”
. . . . . 110
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use, 115
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.
I grow old … I grow old … 120
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me. 125
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown 130
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
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