Cont.

The Rose That Grew From The Concrete


Did you hear about the rose that grew from a crack in the concrete?
Proving nature's law is wrong it learned to walk with out having feet.
Funny it seems, but by keeping its dreams, it learned to breathe fresh air.
Long live the rose that grew from the concrete when no one else ever cared.

Hail Mary.

When I was about 13, I went through a rather strange period where I loved Tupac. I was obviously not your average Tupac fan but I loved him very much. I imagine that I began to listen because my friends did but it's a weird musical taste that I still very much embrace, enjoying the speed and depth of the words.

When I saw this video, my little 13 year old heart got extremely excited and all the lyrics came out of my mouth.

Letters Home.

"Oh, I am in love with now, with all my fears and forebodings, for now I still am not completely molded. My life is still just beginning. I am strong. I long for a cause to devote my energies to...."

Sylvia Plath
Letters Home.

Heart Attack

'Yet however terrestrial and lumpy their appearance just now to the mean unglamoured eye, to themselves the case was different. They followed the road with a sensation that they were soaring along in a supporting medium, possessed of original and profound thoughts, themselves and surrounding nature forming an organism of which all the parts harmoniously and joyously interpenetrated each other.

They were as sublime as the moon and stars above them, and the moon and stars were as ardent as they.'

From Tess of the D'Urbervilles

From her Lady.

From my Lamb.

"What a terrible and awful thing absence is! I tell myself that half of my existence and happiness is in you, that for all the distance that divides us, our hearts are untied by indissoluble bonds, yet my own rebels against destiny and in spite of the pleasures and distractions that surround me, I cannot overcome a certain secret sadness which I have sense at the bottom of my heart ever since our separation. Why are we not together as we were last summer in your huge study, on that blue sofa, the 'sofa of secrets'? Why can I not, as I did three months ago, draw new moral strength from those eyes of yours, so gentle, so calm, so penetrating, eyes that I loved so well and seem to see before me even as I write."

Leo Tolstoy
War and Peace