Thursday, 28 August 2014

“Man was born for society. However little He may be attached to the World, He never can wholly forget it, or bear to be wholly forgotten by it. Disgusted at the guilt or absurdity of Mankind, the Misanthrope flies from it: He resolves to become an Hermit, and buries himself in the Cavern of some gloomy Rock. While Hate inflames his bosom, possibly He may feel contented with his situation: But when his passions begin to cool; when Time has mellowed his sorrows, and healed those wounds which He bore with him to his solitude, think you that Content becomes his Companion? Ah! no, Rosario. No longer sustained by the violence of his passions, He feels all the monotony of his way of living, and his heart becomes the prey of Ennui and weariness. He looks round, and finds himself alone in the Universe: The love of society revives in his bosom, and He pants to return to that world which He has abandoned. Nature loses all her charms in his eyes: No one is near him to point out her beauties, or share in his admiration of her excellence and variety. Propped upon the fragment of some Rock, He gazes upon the tumbling waterfall with a vacant eye, He views without emotion the glory of the setting Sun. Slowly He returns to his Cell at Evening, for no one there is anxious for his arrival; He has no comfort in his solitary unsavoury meal: He throws himself upon his couch of Moss despondent and dissatisfied, and wakes only to pass a day as joyless, as monotonous as the former.” 
― Matthew Gregory LewisThe Monk

again and again and again, it's just one broken heart...

... sometimes the heart gets blown away like with a nuclear bomb, sometimes it's crushed like with a pestle and mortar to season someone else's life...
Don't mind me, just let me be
My eyes so far away
I don't need no sympathy
The word gets overplayed
I'm alright, it's just tonight
I can't play the part
I'm alright, it's alright
It's just one broken heart
Don't have eyes for the world outside
They're closed and turned within
Trying to find the light inside
It's lit, but growing dim
I'm alright, it's just tonight
I can't play the part
I'm alright, it's alright
It's just one broken heart.

Read more: Eddie Vedder - Broken Heart Lyrics | MetroLyrics 

Tuesday, 19 August 2014


Things people do that can make lose respect for them:

- Gratuitous evil actions and violence towards others;
- Saying something and doing the opposite next;
- Not being strong enough for someone who needs it;
- Not trying to get better and be better every day;
- Hiding things and lying to people only for fear;
- Not being honest with themselves and others;
- Not standing up for those who need them;
- Unloading on others without them deserving and not apologizing;
- Not truly repenting and doing what's necessary to re-gain people's trust;
- Not fighting disease and/or addictions in order to stop hurting others;
- Not helping people who clearly need their help;
- Not caring about anyone and expect others to care for them.

Things people do that can make gain respect for them:

- Having been through hardship and not giving up;
- Having been in dire straits and not unloading cruely on others;
- Having been through bad things and still be a good person;
- Having been through bad things and still have a pure heart and being generous;
- Doing things for others without publiciting or expecting retribution;
- If they can't do better at least admit it and be honest about who they are;
- Sacrificing themselves in order to help others, putting themselves in other's shoes;
- Being there, and sometimes dropping everything, when someone is in need of you;
- Dealing with people that no one else cares about;
- Listening to people and talking to them even if it's hard;
- Giving up the self in order to be there for the other;
- Showing others who they truly are and how they honestly feel;
- Treating others with basic respect (about their differences, opinions, efforts), courtesy and kindness;
- Keeping promises, like doing what they said they'd do.

Wednesday, 13 August 2014

"O Captain! My Captain!" BY WALT WHITMAN

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

Valentine from "The Two Gentlemen of Verona" (Act III), by William Shakespeare

“To die, is to be banish'd from myself;
And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her,
Is self from self: a deadly banishment!
What light is light, if Silvia be not seen?
What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by? 
Unless it be to think that she is by,
And feed upon the shadow of perfection.
Except I be by Silvia in the night,
There is no music in the nightingale;
Unless I look on Silvia in the day,
There is no day for me to look upon;
She is my essence, and I leave to be,
If I be not by her fair influence
Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive.”

Sunday, 10 August 2014


There's such beauty in abandoned buildings sometimes... just like there's in abandoned people, I guess... But then again "beauty is in the eyes of the beholder"...
(on the way back from Caldas)

Sunday, 3 August 2014

"All for Love"

"O TALK not to me of a name great in story;
The days of our youth are the days of our glory;
And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty
Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.
What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled?
’Tis but as a dead flower with May-dew besprinkled:
Then away with all such from the head that is hoary
What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory?
Oh Fame!—if I e’er took delight in thy praises,
’Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases,
Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover
She thought that I was not unworthy to love her.
There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found thee;
Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee;
When it sparkled o’er aught that was bright in my story,
I knew it was love, and I felt it was glory."

George Gordon, Lord Byron (1788–1824)