时间:2024-05-29 08:09:51 美文欣赏 投诉 投稿





  家中只有一个画家了Only one artist in the family When Pable Picasso was a little boy, he lived in a small town in Spain. His mother liked to call him “Piz”. It is the Spanish word for pencil. As a baby, he liked pencils and chalks better than any of his toys. 巴勃罗.毕加索小时候住在西班牙的一个小镇上。他母亲喜欢叫他“皮兹”。这是“铅笔”的西班牙语单词。他从小就喜欢铅笔和粉笔胜过任何的玩具。

  Picasso’s father was an artist, He spent a lot of time teaching the little boy how to draw. 毕加索的父亲是个画家。他花了大量时间教他儿子怎样绘画。

  Drawing was Picasso’s great pleasure. He usually sat by the windows and drew pictures of pigeons. 绘画成了毕加索很大的乐趣。他通常坐在窗户旁边画鸽子。

  One day his father came back, He stood for a long time looking at Picasso’s picture. The pigeons in the picture looked quite real. 有一天,他父亲回来了。他站了很长时间观察毕加索画的画。画中的`鸽子看上去十分逼真。

  His father gave all his brushes and paint to Picasso. He told his son that from then on there would be only one artist in the family. 毕加索的父亲把所有的画笔和颜料全给了他。他对他儿子说,从那个时候起家中只有一个画家。


  Written by: Babydoll

  "I will take you out for dinner!" Said him.

  Is it a date? To be honest, I don't really know. But, yes, I considered it as our first date, since we had a more than friend situation, having a dinner together would be in term of a Date.

  Gals are always keen on what to wear. Me, too. I always spend long time on picking clothes and shoes, and doing my makeup and hair. That's what a mature woman do, my gay friend used to say that to me. None exception for this day, I spent more than a hour to prepare myself for going out.

  Dress? Too formal for the bar where we might go after the dinner...

  Skirt? I never really like to wear skirt, beside it is kind chill at night...

  Jeans?? Isn't it too informal for that kind elegant restaurant??

  ... Hmm... never mind, I finally picked jeans and kind classical black top. I like to wear simple stuffs. Hey, simple doesnt mean cheap! Elegant is an expression, an elegant lady would look tiptop all the time even in some simple stuffs.

  I pulled my hair back to send the hair bun and a wooden hairpin, simple and classical Asian style, one of my favorite hair styles. Asian women with the hairbun and hairpin are so sexy, my friends always say that. But hairpins are dangerous, it can be very sharp!

  Makeup wouldn't be too hard for me, maybe I am very artistic, or maybe I am just plastic... I don't like to follow the fashion, but my own style. I like to wear different colors of eyeshadows and lipsticks in order to fit my clothes and my mood. Hmmm... this evening, I felt classical and sexy! Silver, gold, and rouge would be perfect. Makeups are women's magic! No wonder nowadays no matter how bleak the economy is, those stuffs have still been hot in the market! We women are the best consumers in this modern world!


  Look into your own life. If you scrub away the make-up of illusion and impurities of jealousy — can you see the clarity of grace? Can you understand how treasuring what's right in front of you is worth your time?



  I believe in the 50-percent theory. Half the time things are better than normal; the other half, they are worse. I believe life is a pendulum swing. It takes time and experience to understand what normal is, and that gives me the perspective to deal with the surprises of the future. Let’s benchmark the parameters: Yes, I will die. I’ve dealt with the deaths of both parents, a best friend, a beloved boss and cherished pets. Some of these deaths have been violent, before my eyes, or slow and agonizing. Bad stuff, and it belongs at the bottom of the scale. Then there are those high points: romance and marriage to the right person; having a child and doing those Dad things like coaching my son’s baseball team, paddling around the creek in the boat while he’s swimming with the dogs; discovering his compassion so deep it manifests even in his kindness to snails, his imagination so vivid he builds a spaceship from a scattered pile of Legos. But there is a vast meadow of life in the middle, where the bad and the good flip-flop acrobatically. This is what convinces me to believe in the 50-percent theory. One spring I planted corn too early in a bottomland so flood-prone that neighbors laughed. I felt chagrined at the wasted effort. Summer turned brutal—the worst heat wave and drought in my lifetime. The air-conditioner died, the well went dry, the marriage ended, the job lost, the money gone. I was living lyrics from a country tune—music I loathed. Only a surging Kansas City Royals team, bound for their first World Series, buoyed my spirits. Looking back on that horrible summer, I soon understood that all succeeding good things merely offset the bad. Worse than normal wouldn’t last long. I am owed and savor the halcyon times. They reinvigorate me for the next nasty surprise and offer assurance that I can thrive. The 50-percent theory even helps me see hope beyond my Royals’ recent slump, a field of struggling rookies sown so that some year soon we can reap an October harvest.


  Recently, one of my best friends, whom I‘ve shared just about[几乎] everything with since the first day of kindergarten[幼儿园], spent the weekend with me. Since I moved to a new town several years ago, we‘ve both always looked forward to the few times a year when we can see each other.

  Over the weekend, we spent hours and hours, staying up late[迟迟不睡] into the night, talking about the people she was hanging around with[交往]. She started telling me stories about her new boyfriend, about how he experimented[尝试] with drugs and was into other self-destructive[自毁] behavior[行为]. I was blown away[震惊]! She told me how she had been lying to her parents about where she was going and even sneaking out[偷跑] to see this guy because they didn‘t want her around him. No matter how hard I tried to tell her that she deserved better, she didn‘t believe me. Her self-respect seemed to have disappeared.

  I tried to convince her that she was ruining her future and heading for big trouble. I felt like I was getting nowhere[毫无进展]. I just couldn‘t believe that she really thought it was acceptable to hang with a bunch of losers, especially her boyfriend.

  By the time she left, I was really worried about her and exhausted[疲惫] by the experience. It had been so frustrating[灰心的], I had come close to telling her several times during the weekend that maybe we had just grown too far apart to continue our friendship - but I didn‘t. I put the power of friendship to the ultimate[最后的] test. We‘d been friends for far too long. I had to hope that she valued me enough to know that I was trying to save her from hurting herself. I wanted to believe that our friendship could conquer[克服] anything.

  A few days later, she called to say that she had thought long and hard about our conversation, and then she told me that she had broken up with her boyfriend. I just listened on the other end of the phone with tears of joy running down my face. It was one of the truly rewarding[值得的`] moments in my life. Never had I been so proud of a friend.(by Danielle Fishel)


  Living standards have soared during the twentieth century, and economists expect them to continue rising in the decades ahead. Does that mean that we humans can look forward to increasing happiness?

  Not necessarily, warns Richard A. Easterlin, an economist at the University of Southern California, in his new book, Growth Triumphant: The Twenty-first Century in Historical Perspective. Easterlin concedes that richer people are more likely to report themselves as being happy than poorer people are. But steady improvements in the American economy

  have not been accompanied by steady increases in people‘s self-assessments of their own happiness. "There has been not improvement in average happiness in the United States over almost a half century----a period in which real GDP per capita more than doubled," Easterlin reports.

  The explanation for this paradox may be that people become less satisfied over time with a given level of income. In Easterlin‘s word: "As incomes rise, the aspiration level does too, and the effect of this increase in aspirations is to vitiate the expected growth in happiness due to higher income."

  Money can buy happiness, Easterlin seems to be saying, but only if one‘s amounts get bigger and other people aren‘t getting more. His analysis helps to explain sociologist Lee Rainwater‘s finding that Americans‘ perception of the income "necessary to get along" rose between 1950 and 1986 in the same proportion as actual per capita income. We feel rich if we have more than our neighbors, poor if we have less, and feeling relatively well off is equated with being happy.

  Easterlin‘s findings, challenge psychologist Abraham Maslow‘s "hierarchy of wants" as a reliable guide to future human motivation.

  Maslow suggested that as people‘s basic material wants are satisfied they seek to achieve nonmaterial or spiritual goals. But Easterlin‘s evidence points to the persistence of materialism.

  "Despite a general level of affluence never before realized in the history of the world." Easterlin observes, "Material concerns in the wealthiest nations today are as pressing as ever and the pursuit of material need as intense." The evidence suggests there is no evolution toward higher order goals. Rather, each step upward on the ladder of economic development merely stimulates new economic desires that lead the chase ever onward. Economists are accustomed to deflating the money value of national income by the average level of prices to obtain "real" income. The process here is similar----real income is being deflated by rising material aspiration, in this case to yield

  essentially constant subjective economic well-being. While it would be pleasant to envisage a world free from the pressure of material want, a more realistic projection, based on the evidence, is of a world in which generation after generation thinks it needs only another 10% to 20% more income to be perfectly happy.

  Needs are limited, but not greeds. Science has developed no cure for envy, so our wealth boosts our happiness only briefly while shrinking that of our neighbors. Thus the outlook for the future is gloomy in Easterlin‘s view.

  "The future, then, to which the epoch of modern economic growth is leading is one of never ending economic growth, a world in which ever growing abundance is matched by ever rising aspirations, a world in which cultural difference is leveled in the constant race to achieve the goods life of material plenty, it is a world founded on belief in science and the power of rational inquiry and in the ultimate capacity

  of humanity to shape its own destiny. The irony is that in this last respect the lesson of history appears to be otherwise: that there is no choice. In the end, the triumph of economic growth is not a triumph of humanity over material wants; rather, it is the triumph of material wants over humanity."










  Isn't it amazing how one person, sharing one idea, at the right time and place can change the course of your life's history? This is certainly what happened in my life. When I was 14, I was hitchhiking from Houston, Texas, through El Paso on my way to California. I was following my dream, journeying with the sun. I was a high school dropout with learning disabilities and was set on surfing the biggest waves in the world, first in California and then in Hawaii, where I would later live.

  Upon reaching downtown El Paso, I met an old man, a bum, on the street corner. He saw me walking, stopped me and questioned me as I passed by. He asked me if I was running away from home, I suppose because I looked so young. I told him, "Not exactly, sir," since my father had given me a ride to the freeway in Houston and given me his blessings while saying, "It is important to follow your dream and what is in your heart. Son. "

  The bum then asked me if he could buy me a cup of coffee. I told him, "No, sir, but a soda would be great." We walked to a corner malt shop and sat down on a couple of swiveling stools while we enjoyed our drinks.

  After conversing for a few minutes, the friendly bum told me to follow him. He told me that he had something grand to show me and share with me. We walked a couple of blocks until we came upon the downtown El Paso Public Library.

  We walked up its front steps and stopped at a small information stand. Here the bum spoke to a smiling old lady, and asked her if she would be kind enough to watch my things for a moment while he and I entered the library. I left my belongings with this grandmotherly figure and entered into this magnificent hall of learning.

  The bum first led me to a table and asked me to sit down and wait for a moment while he looked for something special amongst the shelves. A few moments later, he returned with a couple of old books under his arms and set them on the table. He then sat down beside me and spoke. He started with a few statements that were very special and that changed my life. He said, "There are two things that I want to teach you, young man, and they are these:

  "Number one is to never judge a book by its cover, for a cover can fool you. "He followed with, "I ll bet you think I m a bum, don t you, young man?"

  I said, "Well, uh, yes, I guess so, sir. "

  "Well, young man, I've got a little surprise for you. I am one of the wealthiest men in the world. I have probably everything any man could ever want. I originally come from the Northeast and have all the things that money can buy. But a year ago, my wife passed away, bless her soul, and since then I have been deeply reflecting upon life. I realized there were certain things I had not yet experienced in life, one of which was what it would be like to live like a bum on the streets. I made a commitment to myself to do exactly that for one year. For the past year I have been going from city to city doing just that. So, you see, don't ever judge a book by its cover, for a cover can fool you.

  "Number two is to learn how to read, my boy. For there is only one thing that people can't take away from you, and that is your wisdom. " At that moment, he reached forward, grabbed my right hand in his and put them upon the books he'd pulled from the shelves. They were the writings of Plato and Aristotle-immortal classics from ancient times.

  The bum then led me back past the smiling old woman near the entrance, down the steps and back on the streets near where we first met. His parting request was for me to never forget what he taught me.

  I haven't.












  The White Envelope

  It's just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past 10 years or so.

  It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas — oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it — overspending... the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma — the gifts given in desperation because you couldn't think of anything else.

  Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way.

  Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended; and shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church. These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes.

  As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler's ears. It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford. Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. And as each of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn't acknowledge defeat.

  Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, “I wish just one of them could have won,” he said. “They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them.”

  Mike loved kids — all kids — and he knew them, having coached little league football, baseball and lacrosse. That's when the idea for his present came. That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent the anonymously to the inner-city church.

  On Christmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me. His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year and in succeeding years.

  For each Christmas, I followed the tradition — one year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on.

  The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning and our children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents.

  As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure. The story doesn't end there. You see, we lost Mike last year due to dreaded cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning, it was joined by three more.

  Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing around the tree with wide-eyed anticipation watching as their fathers take down the envelope. Mike's spirit, like the Christmas spirit, will always be with us.

  May we all remember the reason for the season, and the true Christmas spirit this year and always. God bless — pass this along to your friends and loved ones.

  Happy Holidays!

  December is one of my favorite months as it's the month of lights, and the month of giving, and thanking. I received this mail from my friend Debra this evening, and wanted to share it. I really think it touches all of us in many ways. As it is said you can never give or receive too many mizvot (in Jewish it's the act of giving) Maybe it could be your “WHITE ENVELOPE”.


  If I were a boy again, I would cultivate courage. “Nothing is so mild and gentle as courage, nothing so cruel and pitiless as cowardice,” syas a wise author. We too often borrow trouble, and anticipate that may never appear.” The fear of ill exceeds the ill we fear.” Dangers will arise in any career, but presence of mind will often conquer the worst of them. Be prepared for any fate, and there is no harm to be freared. If I were a boy again, I would look on the cheerful side. Life is very much like a mirror: if you smile upon it, I smiles back upon you; but if you frown and look doubtful on it, you will get a similar look in return. Inner sunshine warms not only the heart of the owner, but of all that come in contact with it. “ who shuts love out ,in turn shall be shut out from love.” If I were a boy again, I would school myself to say no more often. I might write pages on the importance of learning very early in life to gain that point where a young boy can stand erect, and decline doing an unworthy act because it is unworthy. If I were a boy again, I would demand of myself more courtesy towards my companions and friends, and indeed towards strangers as well. The smallest courtesies along the rough roads of life are like the little birds that sing to us all winter long, and make that season of ice and snow more endurable. Finally, instead of trying hard to be happy, as if that were the sole purpose of life, I would , if I were a boy again, I would still try harder to make others happy.



  The Thanksgiving Story

  The Pilgrims who sailed to this country aboard the Mayflower were originally members of the English Separatist Church (a Puritan sect). They had earlier fled their home in England and sailed to Holland (The Netherlands) to escape religious persecution. There, they enjoyed more religious tolerance, but they eventually became disenchanted with the Dutch way of life, thinking it ungodly. Seeking a better life, the Separatists negotiated with a London stock company to finance a pilgrimage to America. Most of those making the trip aboard the Mayflower were non-Separatists, but were hired to protect the company's interests. Only about one-third of the original colonists were Separatists.

  The Pilgrims set ground at Plymouth Rock on December 11, 1620. Their first winter was devastating. At the beginning of the following fall, they had lost 46 of the original 102 who sailed on the Mayflower. But the harvest of 1621 was a bountiful one. And the remaining colonists decided to celebrate with a feast -- including 91 Indians who had helped the Pilgrims survive their first year. It is believed that the Pilgrims would not have made it through the year without the help of the natives. The feast was more of a traditional English harvest festival than a true "thanksgiving" observance. It lasted three days.

  Governor William Bradford sent "four men fowling" after wild ducks and geese. It is not certain that wild turkey was part of their feast. However, it is certain that they had venison. The term "turkey" was used by the Pilgrims to mean any sort of wild fowl.

  Another modern staple at almost every Thanksgiving table is pumpkin pie. But it is unlikely that the first feast included that treat. The supply of flour had been long diminished, so there was no bread or pastries of any kind. However, they did eat boiled pumpkin, and they produced a type of fried bread from their corn crop. There was also no milk, cider, potatoes, or butter. There was no domestic cattle for dairy products, and the newly-discovered potato was still considered by many Europeans to be poisonous. But the feast did include fish, berries, watercress, lobster, dried fruit, clams, venison, and plums.

  This "thanksgiving" feast was not repeated the following year. But in 1623, during a severe drought, the pilgrims gathered in a prayer service, praying for rain. When a long, steady rain followed the vernksgiving. Hale wrote many editorials championing her cause in her Boston Ladies' Magazine, and later, in Godey's Lady's Book. Finally, after a 40-year campaign of writing editorials and letters to governors and presidents, Hale's obsession became a reality when, in 1863, President Lincoln proclaimed the last Thursday in November as a national day of Thanksgiving.

  Thanksgiving was proclaimed by every president after Lincoln. The date was changed a couple of times, most recently by Franklin Roosevelt, who set it up one week to the next-to-last Thursday in order to create a longer Christmas shopping season. Public uproar against this decision caused the president to move Thanksgiving back to its original date two years later. And in 1941, Thanksgiving was finally sanctioned by Congress as a legal holiday, as the fourth Thursday in November.


  On beauty

  Where shall you seek beauty, and how shall you find her unless she herself be your way and your guide? And how shall you speak of her except she be the 1)weaver of your speech?

  The 2)aggrieved and the 3)injured say, "Beauty is kind and gentle. Like a young mother half-shy of her own 4)glory she walks among us."

  And the 5)passionate say, "Nay, beauty is a thing of 6)might and 7)dread. Like the 8)tempest she shakes the earth beneath us and the sky above us."

  The tired and the 9)weary say, "Beauty is of soft 10)whisperings. She speaks in our spirit. Her voice 11)yields to our silences like a 12)faint light that 13)quivers 14)in fear of the shadow."

  But the 15)restless say, "We have heard her shouting among the mountains, and with her cries came the sound of hoofs, and the beating of wings and the 16)roaring of lions."

  At night the watchmen of the city say, "Beauty shall rise with the dawn from the east."

  And at 17)noon-time the 18)toilers and the 19)wayfarers say, "We have seen her leaning over the earth from the windows of the sunset."

  In winter say the 20)snow-bound, "She shall come with the spring leaping upon the hills."

  And in the summer heat the 21)reapers say, "We have seen her dancing with the autumn leaves, and we saw a drift of snow in her hair."

  All these things have you said of beauty, yet in truth you spoke not of her but of needs unsatisfied, and beauty is not a need but an 22)ecstasy. It is not a mouth 23)thirsting nor an empty hand stretched forth, but rather a heart 24)enflamed and a soul 25)enchanted. It is not the image you would see nor the song you would hear, but rather an image you see though you close your eyes and a song you hear though you shut your ears. It is not the 26)sap within the 27)furrowed 28)bark, nor a wing attached to a 29)claw, but rather a garden for ever in bloom and a flock of angels for ever in flight.

  Beauty is life when life 30)unveils her holy face.

  1) weaver n. 编织者,织工

  2) aggrieved a. 苦恼的,悲伤的 the aggrieved指苦恼的人,悲伤的人

  3) injured a. 受伤的,受损害的 the injured指受伤的人,受损害的人

  4) glory n. 荣誉,光荣

  5) passionate a. 热情的 the passionate指充满热情的人

  6) might n. 力量,威力

  7) dread n. 惧怕,担心

  8) tempest n. 暴风雨

  9) weary a. 疲倦的 the weary指疲倦的人

  10) whispering n. 耳语

  11) yield to 屈服于,屈从于

  12) faint a. 微弱的,模糊的

  13) quiver v. 颤抖

  14) in fear of 对……惧怕,担忧

  15) restless a. 不能安静的 the restless指好动的人

  16) roaring n. 咆哮,呼喊

  17) noon-time n. 正午,白昼

  18) toiler n. 辛劳者

  19) wayfarer n. 旅人,徒步旅行者

  20) snow-bound a. 被大雪困阻的 the snowbound指被大雪困阻的人

  21) reaper n. 收割者

  22) ecstasy n. 入迷

  23) thirsting a. 口渴的

  24) enflame v. 燃烧

  25) enchant v. 施魔法,使迷惑

  26) sap n. 树液

  27) furrowed a. 有犁沟的,有皱纹的

  28) bark n. 树皮

  29) claw n. 爪

  30) unveil v. 揭开,除去面纱















  The man was embarrassed by his earlier overreaction, but his anger flared again when he found out the box was empty。 He yelled at her, stating, "Don't you know, when you give someone a present, there is supposed to be something inside? The little girl looked up at him with tears in her eyes and cried, "Oh, Daddy, it's not empty at all。 I blew kisses into the box。 They're all for you, Daddy。"


  The father was crushed。 He put his arms around his little girl, and he begged for her forgiveness。 Only a short time later, an accident took the life of the child。 It is also told that her father kept that gold box by his bed for many years and, whenever he was discouraged, he would take out an imaginary kiss and remember the love of the child who had put it there。


  In a very real sense, each one of us, as humans beings, have been given a gold container filled with unconditional love and kisses… from our children, family members, friends, and God。 There is simply no other possession, anyone could hold, more precious than this。



  What is Love? The eternal question we all carry around deep within our heart. Love is the eternal search. Love is eternal when we find it. But do we really ever find it ? When we define it do we negate it? When we set limits on what we believe to be love do we begin to destroy it by hoping to understand or own it for ourselves? We offer it through all of our relationship we vary our giving, often by what we hope to receive in return. But is this really love?

  I recently overheard someone say in a conversation that there is no such thing as “ unconditional love .” I would have to agree, although for different reasons. Love within itself is unconditional. Anything else is only an attempt to love, a learning to get us nearer to the one true knowing of love. It may be honorable, well-intentioned, passionate and desiring, courageous and pure. It may be felt as temporary, but if lost easily it may not have been love at all. Love cannot be thwarted and often fall short of what we hope love will be. This is where we learn we are human.

  Love has been experienced as a life of living poetry. Love has been experienced as being the very notes of song, uplifting and generous to the wanting ear. Love has been experienced as the final act of giving one’s life for another in battle. Love has been experienced as an endless passionate over flow of emotion in the arms of waiting lover.

  What do you do with the love granted to you each day? How many times do we deny its expression for others because we fear what our own expressions will bring? Are we not denying our creator every time we deny the expression of love?

  Lost, empty, alone and searching. As individuals who have experienced separation or divorce, or even the loss of a loved one to death, the separation can be the most traumatic experience we live through. The heart-wrenching pain that seems to never really go away, the enormous waves that hit us daily, the times we hit the wall right after a strong and uplifting experience reminds us that we are learning. We are learning about strength, passion for our own life, about our own sincerity in our beliefs, about our loyalty to who we are, and certainly about our own genuineness. We search for that day when love will come again. We search everywhere, everyday, almost every hour.

  It has been said for centuries that “ love is where the eyes meet with passion, for the eyes cannot hide what the heart feels.” So we have learned to look outward for this eternal love that will fulfill us, forgetting that it must first fill our own hearts. Perhaps that is why we fall into such pain and agony and sorrow when a love affair fails. It is at that moment that we realize we did not fail the other person we expressed love to , but we have somehow not fulfilled ourselves once again. We combat failure with a misunderstood unfulfilled promise. We lade it, not knowing if we will ever find it again. The emotion tides life and fall ,crash and settle, then lift again.

  No one else, no matter how much we talk or cry, can pull us through the anxious hours of soul repair and growth. It is our own fire within that needs rekindling, guarding against the winds that would blow it out and leave us dark, cold and helpless. It is at this time that we find the lobe that binds us together with every other being that surrounds us on the planet. Eventually we find the sun still rises to meet in the morning and the stars continue to show us the way each night. The rivers still flow downstream into oceans that will never turn them away. The trees still reach upward every day praising the God that made them. We stand up straight and take a lesson from it all.

  What if you woke up one morning and realized that you were the only person left on the face of the earth? Who would you love? Why do we wait so long to start the journey that begins in the same place that it ends?Love, in all its endlessness, unboundedness and failed definitions is this experience.

  Love doesn’t ask why. It doesn’t come. It doesn’t go. It just is. It is not only in our hands, it is our hands. It isn’t only in our heart, it is what makes our heart beat every beat. It wraps itself around us so securely that all we need to do to survive against all odds is to recognize it as the very breath we just drew, and the last breath we just let go.


  Believing in yourself comes from knowing what you are really capable of doing. When it's your turn to step up to the plate, realize that you won' t hit a home run every time. Baseball superstar Mickey Mantle struck out more than 1,700 times, but it didn’t stop him from excelling at baseball. He believed in himself, and he knew his fans believed in him.








































  What is love?

  An elf sits between the green branches and leaves.

  The wind not much, if any.

  A bird flew over and stopped on the branch, looking at the rice field that was going to mature in the distance.

  Asked the spirit took out a bunch of glistening rice: "do you love this rice?"



  "It drives me out of hunger."

  The bird pecked the rice, gently comb its feathers.

  "Do you love this rice now?" The elves took out a bunch of glistening rice.

  The bird looked up at a fountain in the distance and answered, "now I love the Bay spring, and I'm a little thirsty."

  The elves took off a leaf, and there was a fountain of water in it.

  The bird finished the spring and was ready to fly away.

  "Please answer me one more question," the elves put out their fingertips, and the birds stopped on it.

  "What more important things are you going to do?" I also have spring in the rice. "

  "I'm going to the valleys with the hyacinth to see the hyacinth."

  "Why?" Can it drive away your hunger? "


  "Can it moisturize your thirst?"


  "Then why are you going to see it?"

  "I need it."

  "Why do you need it?"

  "I love it."

  "Why do you love it?"

  "I miss it all day and night."

  "Why do you miss it?"

  "I love it."

  The elves have been silent for a moment and put forward a question.

  "Why do you only love that one of the hyacinth? There are numerous hyacinth in the valley. "

  "Because it's the only one."

  "Why?" Is it different from all the other hyacinth? "


  "Where is the difference?"

  "Only it is the one I love."

  The elves suddenly laughed and the birds fluttered away.











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