Keni
Claire Keane
Show & Tell
Game of Thrones Daily
EXPECTATIONS
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
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@somuchallthetime
Whatever happens
keep moving
Get through it
Choose to live
Even on the worst day
There are people who love you
There’s new music waiting for you to hear it
Something you haven’t seen before
Something that will blow your mind in the best way
Even on the worst day
Life is a pretty spectacular thing
Even here, you are growing. When August is approaching and you feel a little restless thinking about how this month might end and how this year might end and how you are supposed to start again, you are growing, you are growing, in grace courage strength.
And it is okay if it does not feel like it. It is okay if there are moments where you cannot see the way you have grown, because far beneath the surface the seeds have still been sown. The ground beneath your feet is still a bed for new beginnings.
So much is changing around you but you are changing, too.
You are so much more than the brokenness that you were certain would define you.
It has not been easy for you. You have worked so hard to be the positive one. You have given your best in areas of your life where the effort was not returned. And this has made it so hard for you to keep going, and there have been days where you were not sure if it was even possible. But after everything, here you are, just a little stronger, holding on a little longer, and you still found room for hope.Â
So take heart breathe deep you are still becoming who you were meant to be.
Let July be July. Let August be August. And let yourself
just be even in the uncertainty. You don’t have to fix everything. You don’t have solve everything. And you can still find peace and grow in the wild of changing things.
a heart's a heavy burden
no author has had a successful second book with the same title as the first
England is a cup of tea France, a wheel of ripened brie Greece, a short, squat olive tree America is a gun
Brazil is football on the sand Argentina, Maradona's hand Germany, an oompah band America is a gun
Holland is a wooden shoe Hungary, a goulash stew Australia, a kangaroo America is a gun
Japan is a thermal spring Scotland is a highland fling Oh, better to be anything Than America as a gun
The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead there were little daily miracles, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark; here was one.
“A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.”
He who has a why to live for can bear almost any how.
“If your Nerve, deny you— Go above your Nerve— He can lean against the Grave, If he fear to swerve—
That's a steady posture— Never any bend Held of those Brass arms— Best Giant made—
If your Soul seesaw— Lift the Flesh door— The Poltroon wants Oxygen— Nothing more—”
There isn't time, so brief is life, for bickerings, apologies, heartburnings, callings to account. There is only time for loving, and but an instant, so to speak, for that.
You're only as strong as your readiness to surrender. In the end, perhaps, being human is much more important than being fully in the know.
People wish to be settled; only as far as they are unsettled is there any hope for them.
trust the void
I think you will find someone and love them and you will live and die for them because that's your way and you will.
Dance there upon the shore; What need have you to care For wind or water's roar? And tumble out your hair That the salt drops have wet; Being young you have not known The fool's triumph, nor yet Love lost as soon as won. And he, the best warrior, dead And all the sheaves to bind! What need that you should dread The monstrous crying of wind?
Ornamented with willows, and green level, Full drooping willows and rushes, and mallard and swans, Or stumpy pollard willows and the dank silence Of the slippery lapsing Cam. That was our place.
Among the hills a meteorite Lies huge; and moss has overgrown, And wind and rain with touches light Made soft, the contours of the stone.
Thus easily can Earth digest A cinder of sidereal fire, And make her translunary guest The native of an English shire.
Nor is it strange these wanderers Find in her lap their fitting place, For every particle that's hers Came at the first from outer space.
All that is Earth has once been sky; Down from the sun of old she came, Or from some star that travelled by Too close to his entangling flame.
Hence, if belated drops yet fall From heaven, on these her plastic power Still works as once it worked on all The glad rush of the golden shower.