كيف ليَ أن أكتب قصيدة تخدش وجه العالم وتدير دفّة القمر؟
Some would say that paradise is the escapist ‘fiction’ of hapless minds caught up in the denial of a darkening world. But Christmas would say that the ‘paradise’ of escapist fiction has not a single shred of fiction in it at all.
Milton had a day to day outlook; if life were not at any given moment positively unbearable, that is to say, if he were not actually cold, nor without a drink, nor alone, he still maintained a vivid faith in the future.
A positive attitude is more important than skills.
Compassion removes the walls of mistrust and builds bridges of hope, trust and beliefs.
It is not a matter of being broken, even though I am in fact quite shattered. It is understanding that my capacity to be fixed always exceeds the extent to which I’m broken.
We are so much more than just our physical selves.
No dreaming may stand still, for this bodes no good. But if it becomes a dreaming ahead, then its cause appears quite differently and excitingly alive. The dim and weakening features, which may be characteristic of mere yearning, disappears; and then yearning can show what it really is able to accomplish.
Love came to me as the touching waves, kissing my feet but never to stay, I wondered it's existence until I got absorbed into it.
Being thankful reminds us that if it’s broken it’s an opportunity.
The sky was dark and cold as she longed for the one man who could chase away the demons of the night.
Gavin is just a kid. He hasn't figured out yet how cruel life can be. How it can take everything from you, dig in its sharp teeth and not let go. He still has hope. I can't tarnish that.
By nature we are creatures of hope, always ready to be deceived again, caught by the marvel that might be wrapped in the grubbiest brown paper parcel.
Lover is a mere companion, love is eternal.
The longer I’ve walked with God the more I’ve realized that being thankful is vigorously celebrating what’s right in the world while anticipating that what’s wrong with it will soon follow suit.
Everyone is born an artist. What differentiates us are the variations of creativity.
He who wishes for anything but Christ, does not know what he wishes; he who asks for anything but Christ, does not know what he is asking; he who works, and not for Christ, does not know what he is doing.
As I’d found time and again throughout my life—and would continue to find—you do what you can, say your prayers, and hope for the best.
But it was time for Monday morning. The great arbiter of fresh starts and calendars stretching for days on end. Office workers in Park Avenue corner offices and pattern makers in Garment District walk-ups were drunk with the possibility of a whole week set before them like a new school year to a class full of wide-eyed kindergarteners. The idea that there was so much time to make things happen.
Don’t be afraid of exploring your capabilities, of seeking adventures, of searching for answers, of pushing the envelope, of finding gaps between the fences. Don’t, be, afraid... Period. Life is too short to be a wimp.
