Poetry

"Return me, oh sun,
to my wild destiny,
rain of the ancient wood...

I want to go back to being what I have not been,
and learn to go back from such deeps
that amongst all natural things
I could live or not live; it does not matter,
to be one stone more, the dark stone,
the pure stone which the river bears away."
--Pablo Neruda--

"Unto This Last" By: John Ruskin

"And if, on due and honest thought over these things, it seems that the kind of existence to which men are now summoned by every plea of pity and claim of right, may, for some time at least, not be a luxurious one; --consider whether, even supposing it guiltless, luxury would be desired by any of us, if we saw clearly at our sides the suffering which accompanies it in the world. Luxury is indeed possible in the future--innocent and exquisite; luxury for all, and by the help of all; but luxury at present can only be enjoyed by the ignorant; the cruelest man living could not sit at his feast, unless he sat blindfolded. Raise the veil boldly; face the light; and if, as yet, the light of the eye can only be seen through tears..."