Lady Breeze

”ليس هناك شىء يسمى الحرية، و أكثرنا حرية هو عبد للمبادىء التى يؤمن بها، وللغرض الذى يسعى إليه.. اننا نطالب بالحرية لنضعها فى خدمة أغراضنا.. وقبل أن تطالب بحريتك إسئل نفسك: لأى غرض ستهبه؟!“ ― إحسان عبد القدوس

Il a mis le café Dans la tasse Il a mis le lait Dans la tasse de café Il a mis le sucre Dans le café au lait Avec la petite cuiller Il a tourné Il a bu le café au lait Et il a reposé la tasse Sans me parler Il a allumé Une cigarette Il a fait des ronds Avec la fumée Il a mis les cendres Dans le cendrier Sans me parler Sans me regarder Il s’est levé Il a mis Son chapeau sur sa tête Il a mis Son manteau de pluie Parce qu’il pleuvait Et il est parti Sous la pluie Sans une parole Sans me regarder Et moi j’ai pris Ma tête dans mes mains Et j’ai pleuré. Jacques Prévert

The sunshine on the long white road  That ribboned down the hill, The velvet clematis that clung Around your window-sill Are waiting for you still.  Again the shadowed pool shall break  In dimples at your feet, And when the thrush sings in your wood, Unknowing you may meet Another stranger, Sweet.  And if he is not quite so old As the boy you used to know, And less proud, too, and worthier, You may not let him go--- (And daisies are truer than passion-flowers)  It will be better so. Roland Leighton to Vera Brittain

Violets from Plug Street Wood, Sweet, I send you oversea. (It is strange they should be blue, Blue, when his soaked blood was red, For they grew around his head: It is strange they should be blue.) Think what they have meant to me - Life and hope and Love and You (and you did not see them grow Where his mangled body lay Hiding horrors from the day; Sweetest, it was better so.) Violets from oversea, To your dear, far, forgetting land These I send in memory Knowing you will understand. Roland Leighton to Vera Brittain

Down the long white road we walked together Down between the grey hills and the heather, Where the tawny-crested Plover cries. You seemed all brown and soft, just like a linnet, Your errant hair had shadowed sunbeams in it, And there shone all April In your eyes. With your golden voice of tears and laughter Softened into song 'Does aught come after Life,' you asked 'When life is Laboured through? What is God and all for which we're striving?' 'Sweetest sceptic, we were born for living; Life is Love, and Love is--- You, dear, you.' Roland Leighton to Vera Brittain

This being human is a guest house. Every morning a new arrival. A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor. Welcome and entertain them all! Even if they're a crowd of sorrows, who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture, still, treat each guest honorably. He may be clearing you out for some new delight. The dark thought, the shame, the malice, meet them at the door laughing, and invite them in. Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond. Rumi

After a while you learn the subtle difference between holding a hand and chaining a soul and you learn that love doesn't mean leaning and company doesn't always mean security. And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts and presents aren't promises and you begin to accept your defeats with your head up and your eyes ahead with the grace of woman, not the grief of a child and you learn to build all your roads on today because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans and futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight. After a while you learn that even sunshine burns if you get too much so you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers. And you learn that you really can endure you really are strong you really do have worth and you learn and you learn with every goodbye, you learn...   Veronica A. Shoffstall

"إليك قول رجل مجرب قال: من غيرة الحق أن لم يجعل لأحد إليه طريقا، ولم يؤيس أحدا من الوصول إليه، وترك الخلق في مفاوز التحير يركضون، وفي بحار الظن يغرقون، فمن ظن أنه واصل فاصله، ومن ظن أنه فاصل تاه، فلا وصول ولا مهرب عنه، ولا بد منه." نجيب محفوظ - ليالى ألف ليلة

I just finished reading “ Adultery ” by Paulo Coelho . Honestly, I can't believe this is written by the same man who wrote one of my favorite novels. Utterly shocking and incredibly disappointing. I read the entire book, because I was waiting for it to get better, but it never happened. In this story, Coelho shows the monster, that resides in us to come up for revenge. Through the life of the main character, feelings of dissatisfaction and inadequacy come to surface... if her life is so perfect, surrounded by people she love and love her, has the perfect husband and children and successful in her work... why is she so unhappy? Because, deep down, she felt there must be something else to all that sense of the perfect life she was living... Letting the monster inside her to come out, is something forbidden, horrible, and dirty. But through the monster, she returns back from the forbidden adventure as a stronger woman, a better person, a renewed soul. From my point of...

I’m a globie girl that wants to explore as much as possible of the world and get do know more about different cultures. I was born to travel. (Will get to the travelling part later) I am from Cairo and have Turkish roots like most of Egyptians. I was born in Vienna, were I was raised and spent my teen - year’s. Vienna plays a big role in my life. If I started to talk about my love to this country, it’s a never-ending love story and I won’t finish today. - I need to finish because I still got a lot to do for today, maybe in another post -.  People who know me very well, know that I regard Egypt my country and my home, but not only because of my roots, family and friends who live there, but because I truthfully love it. There is something about Egypt and until this moment know one has figured out what is this “Something”. If you talked to any Egyptian who lived abroad especially in a not Middle Eastern country, he will understand what I’m saying. Unfortunately, Egyptians...

„Fast wünschte ich mir, wir wären Schmetterlinge und lebten nur drei Sommertage lang. Drei solcher Tage mit dir könnte ich mit mehr Entzücken füllen als fünfzig gewöhnliche Jahre jemals fassen könnten“ - John Keats Romantik, ist einer meiner Liebling Literaturepochen. (Daher kein wunder wenn ich viel über dieser Zeit schreibe!) Im heutigen, allgemeinen Sprachgebrauch bezeichnet der Begriff Romantik mit dem Adjektiv romantisch die Eigenschaft einer Sache oder eines Ereignisses, Menschen mit Liebe und Sehnsucht zu erfüllen, so etwa in den Wortverbindungen „romantische Liebe“, „romantische Musik“ oder „ein romantischer Brief“. Doch Früher gab es ja die „Romantik“, eine kulturgeschichtliche Epoche , die im   19. Jahrhundert spielte und sich insbesondere auf den Gebieten der bildenden Kunst , der Literatur und der Musik äußerte. Der Begriff kommt ursprünglich von „in lingua romana“ , also von Schriften, die in der Volkssprache der romanischen Länder verfasst waren. Die...

"The heart never suffers when it goes in search of its dream, because every moment of the search is a step towards encountering God and Eternity." The Alchemist- Paulo Coelho 

One of the great classics of all literature, Homer’s “Odyssey,” tells of the return of the hero Ulysses to the island of Ithaca , where his wife Penelope has been waiting for him for over ten years. Ulysses undergoes all sorts of challenges but eventually returns home. Many centuries later, another Greek poet, Constantine Cavafys , dealt with this homecoming in a different manner, creating one of the most beautiful metaphors of this journey in search of our dreams. While the drama of the “Odyssey” centers on the difficulties in arriving and in the suffering of the beloved wife, in Cavafys’ poetry exactly the opposite is asked of Ulysses: he should enjoy the journey and experience all that needs to be lived. Below, the poem by Cavafis: When you set out on your journey to Ithaca pray that the road is long, Full of adventure, full of knowledge. The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops, the angry find such as these on your path if your thoughts remain lofty, if a fine emotion touche...