Doubt that the stars are fire, Doubt that the sun doth move his aides, Doubt truth to be a liar, But never doubt I love. Hamlet – Act 2, Scene 2, Shakespeare I humbly do beseech of your pardon, For too much loving you. Othello – Act 3, Scene 3, Shakespeare Guess it is an … Read more
My heart hurts – it aches from the strain, From the pain of everyday life, From the punches thrown by assailants both known and far away. I am grown heavy with the burden of pumping the blood to keep the system going. I am tired, and my heart hurts.
I stare out at the stars at night. Looking out across the heavens, over the miles, these are the same stars, very much the same stars that watch over you, every night, no matter how near or far. Years or miles may separate, but ordinary, in their constancy, they abide, unspoken.
I will abide with you, I will stand by you, I will be here when you need me, And even when you don't. But I am sick at heart , Rotting at my core. I can love you with all the world, But cannot make you love me.
It finally occured to me that the problem with writing is not that there is nothing to write, but that there is too much to write. It is the absurdity of riches that causes the stoppage of progress, not the lack of material. It is as if we are a would be traveler presented with … Read more