"whoever you are, or whatever it is that you do, when you really want something, it's because that desire originated in the soul of the universe. It's your mission on earth." ...."And when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it." Paulo Coelho

 

Twenty years from now you will be more dissapointed by the things that you didn´t do than by the ones you did do.. so throw off the bowlines, sail away from safe harbour, catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream.Discover... Mark Twain

"Y haciendo cosas que rompo para arreglarlas y volver a romperlas paso mi tiempo...
y el tiempo se acaba...y la vida no espera..."
El niño de las pinturas. (Granada)

la vida es sueño

la vida es sueño

Choose a dream, choose a place, choose companion, choose a date, choose your rites of passage, choose good music, choose good books, choose you lucky charms, choose your fairies and your demons, choose your fears, choose finding yourself, choose getting lost, choose creating yourself, choose me please, choose laughs and dias felices, follow the signs and your fate, and then enjoy the ride .. till the end and say hello to Angels...

jueves, octubre 25, 2012

ode,,

fear nada

. Keats
 
CCLV. Ode to Autumn
 
SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness, 
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; 
Conspiring with him how to load and bless 
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run; 
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,         5
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; 
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells 
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, 
And still more, later flowers for the bees, 
Until they think warm days will never cease;  10
For Summer has o'erbrimm'd their clammy cells. 
  
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? 
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find 
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, 
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;  15
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, 
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook 
Spares the next swath and all its twinèd flowers: 
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep 
Steady thy laden head across a brook;  20
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look, 
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours. 
  
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? 
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,— 
While barrèd clouds bloom the soft-dying day  25
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; 
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn 
Among the river-sallows, borne aloft 
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; 
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;  30
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft 
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft; 
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

1 awesome people left comments.. muchas gracias:

raúl dijo...

celestial!