“When I feel overwhelmed or stressed or lose my center, I draw on one or all of these things:
Be kind & be useful.
Slow way, way down.
Let the world speak to you.
Rest your mind on your breath.
I am only as good as the company I keep.
How can I best support my own vulnerability?
Compassion is the highest form of critical thinking.
My life—which includes my work—is only as good as I feel.
Try to put how you want to feel ahead of what you want to be or even do.
This is what I’m doing, this thing, right now; drop the words, stick with the feeling.
Be ready for opportunities & openings as they come along; change is the only constant.
Go toward the good—the good people, the good moments—& let the rest of the static, noise & drama fall away.
While we’re breathing—which is miraculous, and won’t be happening some day—all we’re doing is learning and growing. That’s all, learning and growing.
Follow your interests, wherever they lead will be somewhere that lights up your eyes, or floats your cork; notice when you get excited &/or confused by things, write down these moments & let them guide you.”
– Hope Hall
28 Commonly Confused Animals treehugger.com
Praying Mantis Love is Waaay Weirder Than You Think | Deep Look YouTube 5:08
22 Beautiful Patio Plants Anyone Can Grow treehugger.com
Life of a pellet Enviva YouTube 3:13
Shame and the Rise of the Social Media Outrage Machine discovermagazine.com
Free trees for schools and communitiesfart sounds woodlandtrust.org.uk
Create Custom Map – MapChart.net
Environmental Film Reviews rachelcarsoncouncil.org
Free Stock Video Footage videvo.net
Top 100 EBooks gutenberg.org
LibriVox Acoustical liberation of books in the public domain librivox.org
Έρανος Σκέψεων | λογοτεχνικό blog
Top 3 Dumbest Wars in History | Military Blunders YouTube 4:05
An Evolutionary Timeline of Homo Sapiens | Science | Smithsonian Magazine
To Start a New Habit, Make It Easy | nytimes.com
Colossal | Art, design, and visual culture. [magazine]
What if every satellite suddenly disappeared? – Moriba Jah – YouTube TED-Ed 5:16
The Next Pandemic: Last Week Tonight with John Oliver (HBO) – YouTube
7 Steps to Tidying Your Digital Life | Wirecutter
What causes dandruff, and how do you get rid of it? – Thomas L. Dawson YouTube 5:04
300 checkmate puzzles!! chess.com
Conan Workshops A History Podcast Called “Big Dick History” – “Conan O’Brien Needs A Friend” YouTube
Conan & Sona Compete In Big Dick History: The Quiz – “Conan O’Brien Needs A Friend” YouTube
Woody Allen em entrevista a Pedro Bial YouTube 44:32
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd winds slowly o’er the lea,
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds:
Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,
Molest her ancient solitary reign.
Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree’s shade
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap,
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
The rude Forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,
The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed,
The cock’s shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn
Or busy housewife ply her evening care:
No children run to lisp their sire’s return,
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke;
How jocund did they drive their team afield!
How bow’d the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!
Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;
Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile
The short and simple annals of the Poor.
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e’er gave
Awaits alike th’ inevitable hour:—
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Nor you, ye Proud, impute to these the fault
If Memory o’er their tomb no trophies raise,
Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.
Can storied urn or animated bust
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath,
Can Honour’s voice provoke the silent dust,
Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of Death?
Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire;
Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway’d,
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre:
But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page,
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne’er unroll;
Chill Penury repress’d their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.
Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathom’d caves of ocean bear:
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast
The little tyrant of his fields withstood,
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest,
Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country’s blood.
Th’ applause of listening senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o’er a smiling land,
And read their history in a nation’s eyes
Their lot forbad: nor circumscribed alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined;
Forbad to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind;
The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,
Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride
With incense kindled at the Muse’s flame.
Far from the madding crowd’s ignoble strife
Their sober wishes never learn’d to stray;
Along the cool sequester’d vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenour of their way.
Yet e’en these bones from insult to protect
Some frail memorial still erected nigh,
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck’d,
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
Their name, their years, spelt by th’ unletter’d Muse,
The place of fame and elegy supply:
And many a holy text around she strews,
That teach the rustic moralist to die.
For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,
This pleasing anxious being e’er resign’d,
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor cast one longing lingering look behind?
On some fond breast the parting soul relies,
Some pious drops the closing eye requires;
E’en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,
E’en in our ashes live their wonted fires.
For thee, who, mindful of th’ unhonour’d dead,
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;
If chance, by lonely Contemplation led,
Some kindred spirit shall enquire thy fate,—
Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,
‘Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn;
‘There at the foot of yonder nodding beech
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high,
His listless length at noon-tide would he stretch,
And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
‘Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,
Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove;
Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one forlorn,
Or crazed with care, or cross’d in hopeless love.
‘One morn I miss’d him on the custom’d hill,
Along the heath, and near his favourite tree;
Another came; nor yet beside the rill,
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he;
‘The next with dirges due in sad array
Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne,—
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay
Graved on the stone beneath yon agèd thorn:’
Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth
A youth, to Fortune and to Fame unknown;
Fair Science frown’d not on his humble birth
And Melancholy mark’d him for her own.
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere;
Heaven did a recompense as largely send:
He gave to Mis’ry all he had, a tear,
He gain’d from Heaven, ’twas all he wish’d, a friend.
No farther seek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,
(There they alike in trembling hope repose,)
The bosom of his Father and his God.
“Love is not a feeling. It’s an ability.”
― Peter Hedges
“Life isn’t about finding yourself.
Life is about creating yourself.”
— George Bernard Shaw
“Hate is usually louder than love – in society and within ourselves. What will happen if we listen to the quieter voices?”
— Charles Eisenstein
“It’s not what you look for that matters, it’s what you see.”
— Henry David Thoreau
“A diamond is a piece of coal that stuck to the job.”
— Thomas A. Edison
“Sometimes people don’t want to hear the truth because they don’t want their illusions destroyed.”
— Friedrich Nietzsche
Η γριά με την καλή ψυχή ευρέθη γκαστρωμένη.
— Παροιμία: αναφέρεται σε αυτούς που από αγαθή προαίρεση ή συγκαταβατική διάθεση ζημιώνονται.
Ερώτησαν την καμήλα τι της αρέσει, ο ανήφορος ή ο κατήφορος. Και εκείνη αποκρίθηκε: «Ίσιος δρόμος δεν είναι;»
— Παροιμία: δείχνει πόσο οι άνθρωποι αγαπούν το μέτρο
“Your home is an extension of your energy field.
This is why practices
like cleaning your home,
organizing your closet
and getting rid of objects that are
cluttering your space can have
a profound impact on your own mind,
body and spirit.”
— Maryam Hasnaa
Success is never final. Failure is never fatal. Courage is what counts.
— Sir Winston Churchill
Success is not the key to happiness. Happiness is the key to success. If you love what you are doing, you will be successful.
— Albert Schweitzer
Your work is to discover your work and then with all your heart to give yourself to it.
— The Buddha
Love What You Do. Do What You Love.
— Wayne Dyer
Most great people have attained their greatest success just one step beyond their greatest failure.
— Napoleon Hill
Are you bored with life? Then throw yourself into some work you believe in with all your heart, live for it, die for it, and you will find happiness that you had thought could never be yours.
— Dale Carnegie
A day will never be anymore than what you make of it.
— Josh S. Hinds
Αρκεί μόνο ένα πρόσωπο να μας λείπει και το παν είναι ερημιά.
Alphonse de Lamartine
I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.
I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?
Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.