Wednesday, 3 January 2024

Sir, I admit your general rule, that every poet is a fool, But you yourself may serve to show it, that every fool is not a poet.

The happiness of life is made up of minute fractions - the little, soon forgotten charities of a kiss or a smile, a kind look or heartfelt compliment.

Never shall I forget the days I spent with you. Continue to be my friend, as you will always find me yours.

I don't want to be at the mercy of my emotions. I want to use them, to enjoy them, and to dominate them.

“You have a lot in common with the moon; its light & its beauty, & its distance from me.”

And that's the problem with words. People can't get to know the intensity of your emotions. People may resonate with your words but their reference for that resonance may be entirely different from yours and this is exactly where I see the problem with the written words.

The wounds we leave in people are sometimes too raw to risk falling back into them. I don't want to believe that we write each other off because we simply don't matter anymore. I know love isn't expendable. I wonder, and maybe hope, if we ever just force it to be out of necessity.

Jack's Game

Hare