Cats are magical. . .the more you pet them the longer you both live.

Cats are magical. . .the more you pet them the longer you both live.

Death is that "Tomorrow" for which all our lives are spent waiting!Man is constantly building the "Image."It is an Edifice read more

Death is that "Tomorrow" for which all our lives are spent waiting!Man is constantly building the "Image."It is an Edifice for the entombment of bones!Best to "Realize" the temporal nature of thingsand simply "Do and Die!1973

How strange is the lot of us mortals! Each of us is here for a
brief sojourn; for what read more

How strange is the lot of us mortals! Each of us is here for a
brief sojourn; for what purpose he knows not, though he senses
it. But without deeper reflection one knows from daily life that
one exists for other people.

The immortal could we cease to contemplate,
The mortal part suggests its every trait.
God laid His read more

The immortal could we cease to contemplate,
The mortal part suggests its every trait.
God laid His fingers on the ivories
Of her pure members as on smoothed keys,
And there out-breathed her spirit's harmonies.

You have suffered greatly, poor mother. Oh! do not lament, you have now the portion of the elect. It is read more

You have suffered greatly, poor mother. Oh! do not lament, you have now the portion of the elect. It is in this way that mortals become angels. It is not their fault; they do not know how to set about it otherwise. This hell from which you have come out is the first step towards Heaven. We must begin by that. -- Jean Valjean --

At thirty, man suspects himself a fool,
Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan;
At fifty, read more

At thirty, man suspects himself a fool,
Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan;
At fifty, chides his infamous delay,
Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve,
In all the magnanimity of thought;
Resolves, and re-resolves, then dies the same.
And why? because he thinks himself immortal,
All men think all men mortal but themselves.

Consider
The lilies of the field whose bloom is brief:--
We are as they;
read more

Consider
The lilies of the field whose bloom is brief:--
We are as they;
Like them we fade away
As doth a leaf.

When the game is over, the king and the pawn go into the same box

When the game is over, the king and the pawn go into the same box

To smell to a turf of fresh earth is wholesome for the body; no
less are thoughts of mortality read more

To smell to a turf of fresh earth is wholesome for the body; no
less are thoughts of mortality cordial to the soul.