Monday, 23 November 2015
Saturday, 14 November 2015
Thursday, 12 November 2015
What is love? Tough question to answer, I believe that until today nobody has been able to give a precise meaning of this enigmatic word.
Love does not respect borders, take over all of consciousness and even the way you lose the reason to love is sharing, love is immense, it is happiness that sometimes draws suffering, love is rejoice in its existence, love is freedom. The word love is the greatest expression of affection that you can offer is the most difficult for me to explain and demonstrate an immeasurable joy, the light that illuminates your darkness, your soul force that is able to continue on foot. Countless are the times to get used to using this word without even being sure what all of which is still interpreted as a feeling or perhaps a value, but despite all this I believe with my own definition of love, reaching to conclude that love is life.
When the night comes look at the sky. If you see a falling star just make a wish.Trust me it will come true because I did it and I found you...
Love poems have long been a way for men and women to express their feelings for one another in a unique and romantic way. But of all the love poems ever written, who wrote the best love poem ever?
Friday, 6 November 2015
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream and not make dreams your master;
If you can think and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And which is more you’ll be a Man, my son!
Monday, 26 October 2015
Kako je pusta mladost koja nije otkrila Antona Pavloviča Čehova ! Šta bi bilo da nam dušu nisu preplavile Tolstojeve rečenice u kojima je svetlost padala i na najsitniji detalj! Znali smo boju dugmeta na mundiru Vronskog, a lik Ane Karenjine bio je jasniji od upečatljive glumice na filmskom platnu. Da nije bilo Bulgakova kako bismo osetili apsurd i paradoks? Da nije sve izgubljeno, a nikada nije sve izgubljeno, potvrđuju nam pojave koje kao usamljene zastave u pustinji mašu i potvrđuju nam da ima pismenih, samo su nam sklonjeni s očiju! Oni su stisnuti između hiljadu informatičkih čuda, jutjubova, rijaliti šoua...
Biti pismen u prošlom veku značilo je biti uvažen! Gde god se pojavljivao pismeni čovek, bio je zapažen.