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I would rather have an inferiority complex and be pleasantly surprised than have a superiority complex and be rudely awakened.
It's weird how people who are the least close to me or who've never even met me purport to be experts on the real me; and then, sadly, there are those who could be in touch with me but prefer to gossip with strangers about me instead.
Looking up and out, how can we not respect this ever-vigilant cognizance that distinguishes us: the capability to envision, to dream, and to invent? the ability to ponder ourselves? and be aware of our existence on the outer arm of a spiral galaxy in an immeasurable ocean of stars? Cognizance is our crest.
People who worship only themselves get a slick, polished look -- like monuments. Too bad they had to go so soon.
The impact of space activities is nothing less than the galvanizing of hope and imagination for human life continuum into a future of infinite possibility.
When we love, we are courageous; and courage has nothing to do with being fearless, it’s about being willing to experience fear, even dread, to do what we must, without guarantee of outcome.
As the author of a work, I don't relinquish author-ity to just any critic, particularly not to people whose work I've not read or don't respect; those biased by envy are the least relevant, and grounded grammarians who strangle or sterilize under a banner of superiority are a close second.
Because I had goodwill for all, I thought all were my friends; and then I learned of treachery, that some preferred my end. A glorious day, the one I learned the meaning of the word. It's good to know my enemies, though their reasons are absurd.
Gossip can be entertaining—occasionally I've heard the most fascinating things about myself I never knew.
Hot air expands, and seriously pompous attitude is the inflation of choice by those lacking substance.
How do we define consciousness, or what has been called the human soul or the spirit, if it can't be quantified as matter or a particle? ... it can be quantified or observed just by a process of elimination.
How do we define consciousness, or what has been called the human soul or the spirit, if it can't be quantified as matter or a particle?... it can be quantified or observed just by a process of elimination.
If warring is human, then why not declare a new kind of war: A waged War of education, love and friendship to win universal human well-being? I propose a brutal conflict against poverty, disease, ignorance, limitations. Imagine the troops, the regimens, the commanders, the soldiers, the discoveries, the heroes, the life! humanity and our planet, victors.
If you were the sky, I would unfurl myself in you, as a rainbow of colors yet unseen. I would become oceans of stars in your night.
Is it a form of social play that underneath the words people say, there is a different conversation going on?
It is interesting to note that poetry, a literary device whose very construct involves the use of words, is itself the word of choice by persons grasping to describe something so beautiful it is marvelously ineffable.
Language achieves soul only when it's applied as a tool, used by those who imbue it with what they have had the courage and honesty to perceive and feel.
Language achieves soul only when it’s applied as a tool, used by those who imbue it with what they have had the courage and honesty to perceive and feel.
Life is a canvas of many strokes where shades from different palettes meet into a picture so concrete that some forget it is their own, so become framed themselves.
Money is only a human invention. I get paid for my work, it's a system of trade, but it's not my purpose and reason for living.
My mother used poetry and the arts as a thermometer—if I cried, it meant my heart had not grown cold, my sensibility was alive and well.
My primary motivation for writing is to communicate my perceptions and insights into the human condition, in a way that may provide understanding, comfort, and company to others.
Poetry absolves spirituality from the dividedness of religions and provides us with a sanctuary that excludes no one.
Poetry is our heart, our spirit, our soul. Call it whatever; without it, everything else is nothing but hardware.
Poets can't worry about popularity since loving life and humanity involves saying what some people don't want to hear.
Pure at heart: to be like a flower that blooms as gloriously, brilliantly in a secluded wild wood, not seen and praised.
Pythagoras was the first person to call the universe Cosmos, describing it a 'kosmos.' The Greek word means 'an equal presence of order and beauty.
Space is as infinite as we can imagine, and expanding this perspective is what adjusts humankind’s focus on conquering our true enemies, the formidable foes: ignorance and limitation.
The body knows no pain, not like the soul. At least a nerve has limits, a body part a name. But the soul... the soul... There is no bandage, even crying is in vain.
The category "Women Poets" is bizarre and irrelevant. It's a subcategory of Poets, but there is not a "Men Poets" category.
The primary dues a writer or any artist pays is to remain sentient, and to forfeit the illusionary luxury of such anesthetics as avoidance, numbness, and denials.
There is direct correlation between a society lacking in artistic vision to lack of social conscience, i.e., crime, poverty, and senseless, violent atrocities, materialism.
When we can build something like the Hubble telescope and fathom images of this vast cosmos of which we are a part, it really gives pause to wonder what and who we are within a larger framework than linear adventures at the shopping mall and taxes.
Where you see valid achievements or virtue being attacked, it's by someone viewing them as a mirror of their own inadequacy instead of an inspiring beacon for excellence.