A Sonnet is a moment’s monument,—
Memorial from the Soul’s eternity
To one dead deathless hour. Look that it be,
Whether for lustral rite or dire portent,
Of its own arduous fulness reverent:
Carve it in ivory or in ebony,
As Day or Night may rule; and let Time see
Its flowering crest impearled and orient.

A Sonnet is a coin: its face reveals
The soul,—its converse, to what Power ’tis due:—
Whether for tribute to the august appeals
Of Life, or dower in Love’s high retinue,
It serve; or, ’mid the dark wharf’s cavernous breath,
In Charon’s palm it pay the toll to Death.

"If we could apply ourselves half as much to progress
as we apply to working around obstacles we construct,
we wouldn't need to worry about resources;
for we are biological and thus infinite,
should we prove worthy
in a sustainable environment.

WHY IS THAT SO HARD?"






After a moment or two, the stars inaudibly echoed that "that's what the Gods call: 'being Human.' If only you knew how it aches to be!"

That in itself just blew my ******' mind.

One who opts for comfort over a challenge is a coward.

In the face of death it isn't courage that keeps you strong but the apathy of no longer holding on