Category Archives: MODERATION IN ALL THINGS

Better a little fire to warm us than a great one to burn us.

1 1 1 1 1 1 1 120interiorsinco00baer_0063“The old never lack for a story when they’re standing in the sun or in front of a warm fireplace.”- Sicilian Proverb

 

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History is a string full of knots, the best you can do is admire it, and maybe tie it up a bit more. History is a hammock for swinging and a game for playing – Jeannette Winterson

 

Huon Times (Franklin, Tas. : 1910 – 1933), Friday 3 June 1921,

Fotor0129172628 Huon Times (Franklin, Tas. - 1910 - 1933), Friday 3 June 1921,

Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota

BY JAMES WRIGHT

Over my head, I see the bronze butterfly,
Asleep on the black trunk,
Blowing like a leaf in green shadow.
Down the ravine behind the empty house,
The cowbells follow one another
Into the distances of the afternoon.
To my right,
In a field of sunlight between two pines,
The droppings of last year’s horses
Blaze up into golden stones.
I lean back, as the evening darkens and comes on.
A chicken hawk floats over, looking for home.
I have wasted my life

In the sacred precinct of that dwelling where the despotic woman wields the sceptre of fierce neatness, one treads as if he carried his life in his hands.

(Henry Ward Beecher)

http://www.inspirationalstories.com/quotes/t/about-neatness/

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Things are always best seen when they are a trifle mixed-up, a trifle disordered the chilly administrative neatness of museums and filing cases, of statistics and cemeteries, is an inhuman and antinatural kind of order it is, in a word, disorder.

(Camilo Cela)

Logic, like whiskey, loses its beneficial effect when taken in too large quantities.

Lord Dunsany

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whiskey makes the heart beat faster
but it sure doesn’t help the
mind and isn’t it funny how you can ache just
from the deadly drone of
existence?”

― Charles Bukowski, The People Look Like Flowers at Last

The White Crane was only seen once a year. The guest who comes but rarely is compared to it.

SMILING SKY 033

Crane and Hawk

 

JOHN KINSELLA

The crane, eyes fixed, moves steadily,

its expression one of quiet desperation;

awkwardly graceful, it lifts

with an arc of its wings.

Turning and cutting the same path over,

the crane relies on what we know as patience,

while the hawk effortlessly shadows—

death’s mimic playing with time.

___________________________________

A FEW OF THE MAORI WISE SAYINGS FROM LAKE TAUPO.

POETRY FOUNDATION

foto – crane in bilambil 2008 december