All posts by nellibell49


Any man who reads too much and uses his own brain too little falls into lazy habits of thinking. Albert Einstein

No problem can withstand the assault of sustained thinking.



It happens as one sees in cages: the birds who are outside despair of ever getting in, and those within are equally desirous of getting out. Michel Eyqem De Montagne


Do Not Worry

Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? 26 Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? 27 Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life ?

“I must have flowers, always, and always.” ― Claude Monet

“It’s so curious: one can resist tears and ‘behave’ very well in the hardest hours of grief. But then someone makes you a friendly sign behind a window, or one notices that a flower that was in bud only yesterday has suddenly blossomed, or a letter slips from a drawer. – and everything collapses. ”


The trouble with most Englishwomen is that they will dress as if they had been a mouse in a previous incarnation – they do not want to attract attention. Edith Sitwell

“O Mouse, do you know the way out of this pool? I am very tired of swimming about here, O Mouse!’ (Alice thought this must be the right way of speaking to a mouse: she had never done such a thing before, but she remembered having seen in her brother’s Latin Grammar, ‘A mouse—of a mouse—to a mouse—a mouse—O mouse!’)”

Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland & Through the Looking-Glass

“If getting drunk was how people forgot they were mortal, then hangovers were how they remembered.” Matt Haig, The Humans

“Sometimes when you get hammered till the small hours you feel pretty good in the morning, but really it’s just because you’re still a bit drunk. That old hangover is just toying with you, working out when to bite.”
― Jojo Moyes, Me Before You

We all laugh and cough with the same language and will die with the same language as well! Javad Alizadeh

“Not Really,” he said then lit a cigarette and handed it to me. I inhaled. Coughed. Wheezed. Gasped for breath. Coughed again. Considered vomiting. Grabbed the swinging bench, head spinning, and threw the cigarette to the ground and stomped on it, convinced my Great Perhaps did not involve cigarettes.”
John Green, Looking for Alaska

“Beneath every mountain lies a valley and beyond every problem lies a solution.” ― gugu



GREY Winter hath gone, like a wearisome guest,

And, behold, for repayment, September comes in

with the wind of the West

And the Spring in her raiment!

The ways of the frost have been filled of the flowers While the forest discovers

Wild wings with the halo of hyaline hours,

And the music of lovers.

September, the maid with the swift, silver feet!

She glides, and she graces

The valleys of coolness, the slopes of the heat,

With her blossomy traces.

Sweet month with a mouth that is made of a rose,

She lightens and lingers

In spots where the harp of the evening glows,

Attuned by her fingers.

The stream from its home in the hollow hill slips

In a darling old fashion;

And the day goeth down with a song on its lips,

Whose key-note is passion.

Far out in the fierce, bitter front of the sea

I stand and remember

Dead things that were brothers and sisters of thee, Resplendent September!

The West, when it blows at the fall of the noon,

And beats on the beaches,

Is filled with a tender and tremulous tune

That touches and teaches:

The stories of Youth, of the burden of Time,

And the death of Devotion,

Come back with the wind,

and are themes of the rhyme In the waves of the ocean.

We, having a secret to others unknown,

In the cool mountain-mosses,

May whisper together, September, alone

Of our loves and our losses!

One word for her beauty, and one for the grace

She gave to the hours;

And then we may kiss her, and suffer her face

To sleep with the flowers.

High places that knew of the gold and the white

On the forehead of Morning,

Now darken and quake, and the steps of the Night

Are heavy with warning!

Her voice in the distance is lofty and loud,

Through the echoing gorges;

She hath hidden her eyes in a mantle of cloud,

And her feet in the surges!

On the tops of the hills; on the turreted cones —

Chief temples of thunder —

The gale, like a ghost, in the middle watch moans, Gliding over and under.

The sea, flying white through the rack and the rain, Leapeth wild at the forelands;

And the plover, whose cry is like passion with pain, Complains in the moorlands.

Oh, season of changes — of shadow and shine — September the splendid! My song hath no music to mingle with thine,

And its burden is ended:

But thou, being born of the winds and the sun,

By mountain, by river,

Mayst lighten and listen, and loiter and run,

With thy voices for ever.

Often undecided whether to desert a sinking ship for one that might not float, he would make up his mind to sit on the wharf for a day. – Lord Beaverbrook

Mort: by Terry Pratchett

“*The disc’s greatest lovers were undoubtedly Mellius and Gretelina, whose pure, passionate and soul-searing affair would have scorched the pages of History if they had not, because of some unexplained quirk of fate, been born two hundred years apart on different continents. However, the gods took pity on them and turned him into an ironing board** and her into a small brass bollard.

For there is no friend like a sisterIn calm or stormy weather; To cheer one on the tedious way, To fetch one if one goes astray,To lift one if one totters down, To strengthen whilst one stands . Christina Rossetti, Goblin Market and Other Poems

 Back in time it seemed that having a sister were a tragedy. Instead it is one of the best presents my parents could have ever given me.

Sara Anzellotti, An Unexpected Proposal

Every seashell has a story.

“More than anything, he wanted to return to the house with the same look of peace that he’d seen on Pastor Harris’s face, but he trudged through the sand, he couldn’t help feeling like an amateur, someone searching for God’s truths like a child searching for seashells.”

Nicholas Sparks, The Last Song

“The grace of God comes swiftly to the soul when endurance is no longer possible.”

St. Dorotheos of Gaza

Discourses and Sayings; Cistercian Publications

“Living in a monastery, even as a guest rather than a monk, you have more opportunities than you might have elsewhere to see the world as it is, instead of through the shadow that you cast upon it.”

Dean Koontz, Brother Odd