Eman
https://www.goodreads.com/emansabry1998
“And if all that is meaningless, I want to be cured
Of a craving for something I cannot find And of the shame of never finding it.”
― The Cocktail Party
Of a craving for something I cannot find And of the shame of never finding it.”
― The Cocktail Party
“Remember death. Even for those who wield great power, life is brief. There is only one way to triumph over death, and that is by making our lives masterpieces. We must seize every opportunity to show kindness and to love fully.”
― Origin
― Origin
“Here is what they don’t tell you:
Icarus laughed as he fell.
Threw his head back and
yelled into the winds,
arms spread wide,
teeth bared to the world.
(There is a bitter triumph
in crashing when you should be
soaring.)
The wax scorched his skin,
ran blazing trails down his back,
his thighs, his ankles, his feet.
Feathers floated like prayers
past his fingers,
close enough to snatch back.
Death breathed burning kisses
against his shoulders,
where the wings joined the harness.
The sun painted everything
in shades of gold.
(There is a certain beauty
in setting the world on fire
and watching from the centre
of the flames.)”
―
Icarus laughed as he fell.
Threw his head back and
yelled into the winds,
arms spread wide,
teeth bared to the world.
(There is a bitter triumph
in crashing when you should be
soaring.)
The wax scorched his skin,
ran blazing trails down his back,
his thighs, his ankles, his feet.
Feathers floated like prayers
past his fingers,
close enough to snatch back.
Death breathed burning kisses
against his shoulders,
where the wings joined the harness.
The sun painted everything
in shades of gold.
(There is a certain beauty
in setting the world on fire
and watching from the centre
of the flames.)”
―
“All things that love the sun are out of doors;
The sky rejoices in the morning's birth;
The grass is bright with rain-drops;—on the moors
The hare is running races in her mirth;
And with her feet she from the plashy earth
Raises a mist, that, glittering in the sun,
Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run.”
―
The sky rejoices in the morning's birth;
The grass is bright with rain-drops;—on the moors
The hare is running races in her mirth;
And with her feet she from the plashy earth
Raises a mist, that, glittering in the sun,
Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run.”
―
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