The palm at the end of the mind, beyond the last thought, rises in the bronze distance. A gold feathered bird sings in the palm, without human meaning, without human feeling, a foreign song. You know then that it is not the reason that makes us happy or unhappy.
The bird sings. Its feathers shine. The palm stands on the edge of space. The wind moves slowly in the branches. The bird's fire-fangled feathers dangle down.

Friday, November 23, 2007

to an orphan girl

"He jests at scars that never felt a wound." - William Shakespeare

"The average man is proof enough that a woman can take a joke." - Source Unknown

"Suppose the world were only one of God's jokes, would you work any the less to make it a good joke instead of a bad one?" - George Bernard Shaw
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