Spark

“The best thing about rock bottom is the rock part. You discover the solid bit of you. The bit that can't be broken down further. The thing that you might sentimentally call a soul. At our lowest we find the solid ground of our foundation. And we can build ourselves anew.”
― Matt Haig, The Comfort Book

“We're foot—slog—slog—slog—sloggin’ over Africa!
Foot—foot—foot—foot—sloggin’ over Africa—
(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin’ up and down again!)
There’s no discharge in the war!

Seven—six—eleven—five—nine-an’-twenty mile to-day—
Four—eleven—seventeen—thirty-two the day before—
(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin’ up and down again!)
There’s no discharge in the war!

Don’t—don’t—don’t—don’t—look at what’s in front of you.
(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin’ up an’ down again!)
Men—men—men—men—men go mad with watchin’ ’em,
And there’s no discharge in the war!

Try—try—try—try—to think o’ something different—
Oh—my—God—keep—me from goin’ lunatic!
(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin’ up an’ down again!)
There’s no discharge in the war!

Count—count—count—count—the bullets in the bandoliers.
If—your—eyes—drop—they will get atop o’ you
(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin’ up and down again!)
There’s no discharge in the war!

We—can—stick—out—’unger, thirst, an’ weariness,
But—not—not—not—not the chronic sight of ’em—
Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin’ up an’ down again!
An’ there’s no discharge in the war!

’Tain’t—so—bad—by—day because o’ company,
But—night—brings—long—strings—o’ forty thousand million
Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin’ up an’ down again.
There’s no discharge in the war!

I—’ave—marched—six—weeks in ’Ell an’ certify
It—is—not—fire—devils—dark or anything,
But boots—boots—boots—boots—movin’ up an’ down again,
An’ there’s no discharge in the war!”
― Rudyard Kipling, The Five Nations

“Teach me your language. I may not be native to your homeland, but let me belong; let me be native to you.”
― Abdulsamad Muhammad Sani

“Tell me every terrible thing you ever did, and let me love you anyway.”
― Edgar Allan Poe, Collected Poems