“I feel that there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people.”
~ Vincent Van Gogh
“Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off – then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship.”
~Herman Melville (from Moby Dick, Chapter 1: Loomings)
You might forgive National Geographic the clunky interfact to their photo contest website when you drink in the deliciousness of the photos themselves.
The music was playing again. She felt the lightning bolt, the supernova, the black-hole-collapse in her chest. Can you feel this way and not attach it to something, to someone? Is that why we seek? Because in its unattached, free-floating form, it’s just too much? Like a too-strong electric current which, if not grounded, converts luminance to immolation? Burns you to a crisp?
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Australian writer Bronnie Ware worked in palliative care for many years, tending to those who were in their last 3 to 12 weeks of life. From her touching post, here are the five most common regrets she heard from these people in their last days.
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