No man can step into the same river twice,
for the second time it is not the same river,
and he is not the same man.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there,
Had worn them really about the same

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference!

Robert Frost (1874–1963) was an American poet who incorporated scenes from rural new England life in his poetry to portray complex issues, exploring philosophical and social themes. Frost received four Pulitzer Prizes. He is buried in Vermont. Perhaps this is fitting for a poet who showed such an obvious sensitivity to his surroundings.

We must let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the one that is waiting for us.
--- Joseph Campbell

"Galadriel was the greatest of the Noldor, except Feanor maybe, though she was wiser than he, and her wisdom increased with the long years."

J. R. R. Tolkien, Unfinished Tales of Numenor and Middle-Earth, Part II, Chapter 4: The History of Galadriel and Celeborn

Love and compassion are necessities, not luxuries. Without them humanity cannot survive. – Dalai Lama

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

--Robert Frost, 1923

“The closest thing to true communication between two human beings is story-telling, for despite his best efforts at concealment, a writer will inevitably reveal in his story the world he believes he lives in, and the participatory reader will forever after carry around in himself and as himself a memory that was partly controlled by that other human being. Such memories are not neatly sorted into fiction and real life in our minds. I know, of course, that I never stood at the Cracks of Doom and watched Gollum die. But that faith in the distinction between my own actions and the actions of fictional characters is merely another story I tell myself. In fact, my memory of that event is much clearer and more powerful than my memory of my fifth birthday.”

-- Orson Scott Card

Your vision will become clear only when you look into your heart ... Who looks outside, dreams. Who looks inside, awakens.
-- Carl Jung

Seek freedom and become captive of your desires. Seek discipline and find your liberty.
-- Frank Herbert in Chapterhouse Dune

Lines Written in Early Spring
by William Wordsworth (1798)

I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And ’tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure:--
But the least motion which they made
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature’s holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?

Blue roses traditionally signify mystery or attaining the impossible. They are believed to be able to grant the owner youth or grant wishes. This symbolism derives from the rose's meaning in the language of flowers common in Victorian times.

In Slavic mythology one may be granted wishes by bringing a blue rose to Baba Yaga. Baba Yaga (Russian: Ба́ба-Яга́), is, in Slavic folklore, the wild old woman; the witch; and mistress of magic. She is also seen as a forest spirit, leading hosts of spirits.

The Blue Rose was also a symbolist, impressionist influenced art movement in Tsarist Russia in the early 20th Century.

Also, according to a Chinese folktale, the blue rose signified hope against unattainable love. There are various versions of this story that can be found online. One example: www.civprod.com/storylady/...lueRose.htm

According to the Yui-Tua peoples of some pacific island groups the appearance of a blue rose signals the end of times.

For more information go here: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blue_rose

Fans have noticed that Britney Spears' Kabbalah-inspired Hebrew tattoo actually has the letters reversed, making it meaningless, proof once again of how hard it is to find a tattoo artist who graduated from a decent Hebrew School.

René Descartes walks into a bar.

The bartender walks up to him and says, “Would you care for a drink?”

Descartes replies, “I think not.” and disappears.

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the center cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

-- William Butler Yeats, January 1919