Stardust Fallout Archive Random

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Do not go gentle into that good night

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

-Dylan Thomas

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Conversations on Purpose
  • Passenger (Whispers): Well, I've got a big old heart, This I know for sure, But I don't know what this love is for. I should know by now.
  • African Proverb: The two most important days in a persons life is the day they are born and they day they know what they are born for.
  • Westminister Catechism A1: Man's chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy him forever.

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"Looking Too Closely" by Fink

This is a song about somebody else
So don’t worry yourself, worry yourself
The devil’s right there, right there in the details
And you don’t wanna hurt yourself, hurt yourself
By looking too closely
By looking too closely
No no no no…

Put your arms around somebody else
And don’t punish yourself, punish yourself
The truth is like blood underneath your fingernails
You don’t wanna hurt yourself, hurt yourself
By looking too closely
By looking too closely
No no no no…
No no no no…

You don’t wanna hurt yourself
You don’t wanna hurt yourself

And I could be wrong about anybody else
So don’t kid yourself, kid yourself
It’s you right there, right there in the mirror
You don’t wanna hurt yourself, hurt yourself

By looking too closely
Mmmmmmmm
By looking too close
Mmmmmmm

Yeah…..
Looking too closely
You don’t wanna hurt yourself
You don’t wanna hurt yourself
By looking too closely

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Little Gidding V, Four Quartets.

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

Through the unknown, remembered gate 
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half heard, in the stillness
Between the two waves of the sea.

Quick now, here, now, always—
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of things shall be well
When the tongues of flame are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.

— T.S. Eliot (1943)

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Prayer of St Francis

Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is doubt, faith;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light;
Where there is sadness, joy.
 
O divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
To be consoled as to console,
To be understood as to understand,
To be loved as to love;
For it is in giving that we receive;
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
It is in dying to self that we are born to eternal life.

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When you die, it doesn’t not mean that you lose to cancer. You beat cancer by how you live, why you live, and in the manner in which you live.
ESPN Commentator Stuart Scott on his cancer and beating it. 

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Trees by Joyce Kilmer

I THINK that I shall never see  
A poem lovely as a tree.  

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest  
Against the sweet earth’s flowing breast;  

A tree that looks at God all day,          
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;  

A tree that may in summer wear  
A nest of robins in her hair;  

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;  
Who intimately lives with rain.   

Poems are made by fools like me,  
But only God can make a tree.