Stacie

“Good friends, good books, and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life.”
― Mark Twain

“I cannot remember my past, my nose, or the colour of my eyes,
or what my general opinion of myself is. Only in moments
of emergency, at a crossing, at a kerb, the wish to preserve
my body springs out and seizes me and stops me , here, before
this omnibus. We insist, it seems, on living. Then again, indifference
descends.”
― Virginia Woolf, The Waves

“I sometimes hold it half a sin
To put in words the grief I feel;
For words, like Nature, half reveal
And half conceal the Soul within.

But, for the unquiet heart and brain,
A use in measured language lies;
The sad mechanic exercise,
Like dull narcotics, numbing pain.

In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er,
Like coarsest clothes against the cold:
But that large grief which these enfold
Is given in outline and no more.

In Memoriam A.H.H. Section 5”
― Alfred Tennyson, In Memoriam

“That loss is common would not make
My own less bitter, rather more:
Too common! Never morning wore
To evening, but some heart did break.

Verse VI”
― Alfred Tennyson, In Memoriam