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“A writer is someone who has taught his mind to misbehave.” — Oscar Wilde, Irish, writer, playwright, novelist, essayist, poet

Source: “A writer is someone who has taught his mind to…” – Art of Quotation


“The human mind prefers to be spoon-fed with the thoughts of others, but deprived of such nourishment it will, reluctantly, begin to think for itself – and such thinking, remember, is origina…

Source: “The human mind prefers to be spoon-fed with the thoughts of others, but …” – Art of Quotation


“Literature is the most agreeable way of ignoring life.”

― Fernando Pessoa, Portuguese, poet, writer, literary critic, translator, publisher and philosopher

Source: “Literature is the most agreeable way of ignoring life.” | Art of Quotation


“I hate writing, I love having written.” ― Dorothy Parker, American, poet, short story writer, critic, satirist

Source: “I hate writing, I love having written.”


ONE FROM THE ARCHIVE FOR REMEMBRANCE DAY.

Prints & Greeting Cards available – click through to original post for the link to buy.

FOR THE FALLEN by Laurence Binyon

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against…

Source: First Night Design | At the Going Down of the Sun


I was so struck by this poem from Dax Christopher that I had to re-blog it.

aliisaacstoryteller


Justice in Winter
(The Goddess of Wind and Rain)

Deep in the woods off a long, winding road, and finding no reasons for where she now lay

Was a broken young woman half buried in snow, just married, half clothed in torn rags and the gray

Of the season that later would prey on her heart and remain there until she had seen her last day.

Dismayed eyes spoke of betrayal and hurt and had frozen, uncertain of why she was slain

In a portrait of ice and without any warning, but morning would yield all the answers she’d need.

If only she’d known of the meeting of late she might not have died there under the tree.

But as is often the case, we see everything clearer in the mirror when everything’s done and behind us.

When life gets too warm and cozy it goes without notice until something…

View original post 3,819 more words


For The Fallen

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England’s foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.

by Laurence Binyon

Drawing of Laurence Binyon by William Strang, 1901

Drawing of Laurence Binyon by William Strang, 1901

Binyon wrote For the Fallen between the retreat from Mons and the victory of the Marne (1914):

“I can’t recall the exact date beyond that it was shortly after the retreat. I was set down, out-of-doors, on a cliff in Polzeath, Cornwall. The stanza They Shall Grow Not Old was written first and dictated the rhythmical movement of the whole poem.” All Poetry

When we were staying with friends in Crete a few years ago, we went to the Remembrance Service at the Allied Cemetery, designed by Louis de Soisson, in Souda Bay. It is a beautiful setting on a hill from which you can see the whole of the bay.

Souda Bay Cemetary

Souda Bay Cemetery

Every year, an old ex-pat recites the They Shall Grow Not Old stanza, as he did when we were there. He infuriated us by saying ‘We shall remember them’ instead of ‘We will remember them’. When we mentioned how frustrating this was, we were told that he gets it wrong every year, even though he has been told many times about the error.  He refuses to let anyone else do it, apparently. It’s a great shame. My actual words at the time — under my breath — are unprintable.

It would be lovely to say that the photograph I used for At the Going Down of the Sun was of Souda Bay but although it is in Crete, I can’t remember where! I added a delicious texture from 2 Lil’ Owls to create a Turner-like effect.

Photography Prints

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Take care and keep laughing!

Sarah


Maya Angelou

Maya Angelou 1928-2014

“You may encounter many defeats, but you must not be defeated. In fact, it may be necessary to encounter the defeats, so you can know who you are, what you can rise from, how you can still come out of it.”

Take care and keep laughing!

Sarah


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