I believe that whatever comes at a particular time is a blessing from God.
The Volunteer AT dawn, he said, I bid them all farewell,To go where bugles call and rifles gleam.And with the restless thought asleep he fell,And glided into dream.A great hot plain from sea to mountain spread, -Through it a level river slowly drawn:He moved with a vast crowd, and at its headStreamed banners like the dawn.There came a blinding flash, a deafening roar,And dissonant cries of triumph and dismay;Blood trickled down the river's reedy shore,And with the dead he lay.The morn broke in upon his solemn dream,And still, with steady pulse and deepening eye,Where bugles call, he said, and rifles gleam,I follow, though I die!
Scared, Cold, in pain, the dust hasn't settled yet.Pinned in, crying,my clothes are ripped, red, and wet.Lights, noise, and confusion,all part of the night.I'm going to die alone,give up the fight.Red lights are flashing,mixing with blue.A face appears at my window,the face is you.You're gonna be all rightis the first thing you say.A reassuring voice,someone wants me to stay.You could have been home with family,they need you too.You worked all day at the job,your sleeping hours numbered two.But you went down the hall,hoping your family is OK.Now you're here with me and Death,with comforting words to say.No time for yourself,no thought for your safety.Later you may think,your decision was hasty.Get the Jaws. Watch that gas;Keep the people away.Get his vitals, hose this down.Some things I hear them say.You stand in gas, look in my window,show no fear.I look back at you knowing,your voice is the last I'll ever hear.I fade away as you hold me,while holding back your tears.Thank you for being there,You Brave Volunteers.
Children look for grown-ups to show them how to live; When we try to fool them, they see through us like a sieve. We recognize the problem now; that's wonderful to see;The answer may well plague us 'til new values come to be.Volunteers are wonderful and will help to meet the need,But we must change the literature on which our children feed. We must teach and model absolutes of love, and justice, too;Prove to them that what we say, is just what we will do.There is one book, and it alone, will help attain success.It is the book, our fathers brought, to tame this wilderness. They used the Bible as their guide, the written Word of God;And found the wisdom written there, the greatest on this sod.Whether it was in the home, in public, or in school,The bible was the blueprint that became their greatest tool.Let's trash the recent literature before it is too late;Teach again, the basic values, that made our nation great.Surely it is evident, without a single doubt,That truth and right mus be invoked to help our children out. So, let's scour all the nation, and get folks to volunteerThat believe the principles our precious kids should hear.If they are dependable, and use the proper tact,Volunteers can help to get our children back on track.
If at times I have thought myself unfortunate, it is because of a confusion, an error. I have mistaken myself for someone else... Who am I really? I am the author of The World as Will and Representation, I am the one who has given an answer to the mystery of Being that will occupy the thinkers of future centuries. That is what I am, and who can dispute it in the years of life that still remain for me?Said to Eduard Grisenbach, nearing his deathhttp://www.kirjasto.sci.fi/arthursc.htm
At that instant he saw, in one blaze of light, an image of unutterable conviction, the reason why the artist works and lives and has his being--the reward he seeks--the only reward he really cares about, without which there is nothing. It is to snare the spirits of mankind in nets of magic, to make his life prevail through his creation, to wreak the vision of his life, the rude and painful substance of his own experience, into the congruence of blazing and enchanted images that are themselves the core of life, the essential pattern whence all other things proceed, the kernel of eternity.
How many of us are able to distinguish between the odors of noon and midnight, or of winter and summer, or of a windy spell and a still one? If man is so generally less happy in the cities than in the country, it is because all these variations and nuances of sight and smell and sound are less clearly marked and lost in the general monotony of gray walls and cement pavements.