Tag: love
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Conceal me what I am, and be my aid for such disguise as haply shall become the form of my intent.
I realize that someone in his autumn leaf like me should be able to zero in on his identity fairly easily; there has been ample time to consider the question. But the trouble is there are still a few leaves left clinging to my branches as if their lives depended on it. So which to…
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If one should say to you that the soul perishes like the body, answer that the flower withers but the seed remains.
Do you ever wonder about the soul? I mean, were we all issued one at birth, or as the French philosopher Sartre believed, does existence proceed essence? Do we have to somehow establish our existence before we can acquire qualities? In grammar, a noun must be present or adjectives have no meaning; no purpose. Are…
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How far that little candle throws its beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.
It’s so easy to misjudge people isn’t it? I’m not sure what criteria can withstand the vagaries and vicissitudes of Time, though; Life is like that: a good novel changing from one page to the next makes for an interesting and compelling read. There was an elderly lady I often saw in the mall’s Food…
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A Life without Love is like a tree without roots
I’ve got a question, although I have to wonder whether I am the question or the answer: do I live inside my head, outside my head, or more likely in both? It’s not much of a question I realize; it’s hardly relevant to events in the average day; and anyway the answer is, well, all…
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‘Oh, how this spring of love resembleth the uncertain glory of an April day which now shows all beauty of the Sun, and by and by a cloud takes all away’
Can we really speak from places where we are not; from times we have visited and then been forced to leave; pretend we still understand how it felt to be young? What truth can memories tell us of our lives…? Do we only remember the sharp edges of things: the significant comings and goings of…
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Most people are other people
Do I really have a true self? There was a time when it seemed obvious that I, quite apart from being an individual and not a replica of my neighbour, possessed a unique identity; or at least it was something that I would eventually have, because, as the philosopher Sartre wrote, existence precedes essence; I…
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Morality, like Art, means drawing a line someplace.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about morality for some reason; not that I figure I’ve entered its purview or anything, you understand -I don’t make a habit of climbing a fence where I’m not sure of my welcome now that I’m old and creaky. I suppose that, having only a few leaves left on my branches…
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Doubt thou the stars are fire
What am I doing, thinking about love at my age? And don’t get all shmaltzy about that; don’t remind me that without love, there is no hope, no future, no point in going on… It’s not that I’ve never considered those arguments, but I’ve lived through them all, and am at peace with myself and…
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Wind Phones
There are times when I wonder how much of it I need: Time, I mean. It’s not that I wish to shorten it unduly, just that there are times when it gathers as a storm approaching on the horizon like I used to see as a child living on the prairies. Now, of course, I…
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