Saturday, 14 November 2015

The earth has music for those who listen

The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness. I like this place and could willingly waste my time in it...
The sunlight claps the tree, and the moon beams kiss the sea: what are all these kissings worth, if thou kiss not me...

Thursday, 12 November 2015

When the lips are silent, the heart has a hundred tongues

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, a feeling, a desire, a longing, a life, a reality, in so many words so we've tried to use to describe something that is indescribable for me. Love is overcoming obstacles that might impede this enigmatic experience "feeling" is to leave everything and go for anything, love is to accept, acknowledge mistakes, to forgive, endless list of qualities that entangled the word love, but undoubtedly love is live.
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

A book is a dream that you hold in your hand

Whenever you read a good book, somewhere in the world a door opens to allow in more light. If we encounter a man of rare intellect, we should ask him what books he reads.
If you only read the books that everyone else is reading, you can only think what everyone else is thinking...

Beseda pismenosti

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.
U školi, bioskopu, na ulici, u pozorištu, na tramvajskoj stanici, u ciganmahali. Nije reč samo o gramatičkoj pismenosti, niti o prividu koji stvaraju savremeni autodidakti i izvođači informatičke revolucije. Kada bi neko za nekoga rekao: „On je pismen”, ili, „Ona je pismena” kao da je
glasno izrazio uvažavanje prema osobi nad kojom je lebdeo oblak, pokrivajući glavu kao veliku tajnu, ali i ništa manji zbir vrlina.
Pismeni nije bio savršen, ali mu je to bila namera. Tešio se i on engleskom poslovicom „Nobody is perfect”, a njegov vrhunac je otelotvoren u argentinskom piscu Horheu Luisu Borhesu. Pismeni je zatrpan otpadom informatičke revolucije, nije dovoljno zao, korumpiran i nije se složio s idejom da nema Boga! Najviše na šta je, u tom slučaju, pristao bila je Jungova ideja da su još jedino gluplji od onih koji tvrde da ima Boga oni koji kažu da ga nema...