chauvinistpig
How cunningly the weaver weaves
When weft through warp the thread she spins
And every strand in turn believes
That on its own it loves and sins
We render our obeisances, an orison to God. Humbly and contritely we go forth, cleansed of our iniquities.
It is a constant wonderment to witness the innovations mankind has produced to, in large part, avoid being wetted by the rain. If necessity is the mother of invention, comfort is surely its favourite aunt.
Lucrezia Borgia, in her way
Was really quite adept
Her suitors took the bitter cup
And permanently slept
To succeed is to end striving and, as a result, to arrive at a golden twilight of bittersweet apathy in which one fondly remembers the struggles of times past.
I said it once and I'll say it again. That alone should give you good cheer. Anything I say thrice is truth itself.
The thread of one's life twists and turns circuitously through the maze of experience until, miraculously, it becomes entangled with the thread of another. The ensuing knot is the basic unit of connectedness that binds the net of humanity.
The thread of one's life twists and turms circuitously through the maze of experience until, miraculously, it becomes entangled with the thread of another. The ensuing knot is the basic unit of connectedness that binds the net of humanity.