A girl in the middle years also becomes more centered in her soul-life, the feelings of her heart, and she needs our guidance to learn to express her uniqueness, those small seeds that will someday sprout into gifts, talents, and resources.
My friend devotes himself to his life, whenever he can find the spare time. His motto is: ‘Don’t just sit there: live!’ So he’s too busy to stand, to walk, to do anything, except to live. He even refused to kiss a girl, when invited, on the grounds that it was time again to be living. Schedules are sacred to him.
फुल्दैनन् सुनगाभा र सयपत्री फूलहरु
हास्दैनन् वनपाखा र भीरपखेराहरु
किनकी सेता सेता हिमालका फेदीमा छौ
अग्ला अग्ला पहाडको टाकुरीमा छौ
छौ, सुशोभित सुनाखरी जस्तै
छौ हर्षित लालुपाते जस्तै
र नाच्छौ डाफे मुनालसंग गुञ्जदा लोकलहरी
त्यसैले फुलाएका छौ देशलाई मुहारभरी
खिलिएकी छौ तिमी हरियाली चुल्ठोभरी
वैंशालु युवतीको चुल्ठोमा खिलिएको फूल झैं
मुस्कुराइरहेकी हुन्छौ झरिवादल र ठिहीमा पनि
वैंशको सहरमा मुस्कुराएको मान्छे जस्तै
सारा क्षण लजाइरहेछ ति म्रो लालीमा देखेर
फुलेका छन् सुनाखरी र सयपत्री ति म्रै आभाष पाएर
त्यसैले जगमगाइ रहेछौ प्रतिष्ठा बनेर
फूलहरुको प्रतिनिधित्वमा फुलेका राष्ट्रियता जगाएर
कहिल्यै नअघाइने ति म्रो रङ्ग
चहार्छ मुटु बनेर धड्किन्छ सारा अङ्ग
तिमी नफुले पालुवा मौसममा कोइली बोल्दैन
तिमी नफुले नदीनाला सुसाउदैन
तिमी नफुले दुःखका क्षणहरु भुलिदैन
तिमी नफुले नेपालीको मन फुल्दैन
तिमी नफुले खुशियालीमा देश झुम्दैन
त्यसैले ओइलिएका मनहरुमा ताजा फूल भएर फुल
हरेकको आखामा रोशनी भरेर फुल
हरेक वर्षको चहलपहलसंगै युगौं युग फुल
तिमी सबैको मिठो सपना भएर फुल
समय अविरल आइरहन्छ
विना मुहानको पानी जस्तो
पर्खदैन डुवी जाने घाम जस्तो
प्रकृतिले प्रदान गरेको निःशुल्क उपहार
बाच्नको लागि प्राण जस्तो
तर थाहा हुदैन हामीलाई
सहज असहज बनेर पाइलाहरुमा
गतिशील भएर उर्लिदिंदा
बनिदिन्छ सृष्टिको नियम जस्तो
विद्यमान बगिदिने नदीहरुमा
जन्म र मृत्यु दुइ किनारा भएर बगे जस्तो
रोकेर रोकिदैंन/छेकेर छेकिदैन
त्यसैले घाम बन्छ कहिले सफलताको
औंसीको रात बन्छ कहिले असफलताको
फक्रिन्छ कहिले रङ्गीविरङ्गी फूल भएर बसन्तहरुमा
पोलिन्छ कहिले आगोको राप बनेर छातीहरुमा
धड्कन हो कि कुन्नी
जति च्यातेर हेरे पनि
हतारिएर जति भेट्न खोजे पनि
व्यस्त व्यस्त भइरहन्छ हरपलमा
छाइरहन्छ सदैव दिनहरुमा, रातहरुमा
र स्पर्श गरिरहन्छ अनुभूतिहरुमा
विना आकृतिको भावना जस्तो ।
वर्तमान छचल्किरहन्छ भविष्यको पानीमा
रोकिदैन भूतकाल पहिरो गए जस्तो
पर्खदैन डुवी जाने घाम जस्तो
When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees,
And they did make no noise, in such a night
Troilus methinks mounted the Troy an walls,
And sighed his soul toward the Grecian tents,
Where Cressida lay that night.
Religions are springs of faith and divine nectar. Keep drinking that holy water but never spit on others.We need Religion till then, when religion automatically melts down and only God remains.
I hate Science. It denies a man’s responsibility for his own deeds, abolishes the brotherhood that springs from God’s fatherhood. It is a hectoring, dictating expertise, which makes the least lovable of the Church Fathers seem liberal by contrast. It is far easier for a Hitler or a Stalin to find a mock- scientific excuse for persecution than it was for Dominic to find a mock-Christian one.
I am already kindly disposed towards you. My friendship it is not in my power to give: this is a gift which no man can make, it is not in our own power: a sound and healthy friendship is the growth of time and circumstance, it will spring up and thrive like a wildflower when these favor, and when they do not, it is in vain to look for it.
I suspect a demand for real change in power relations will occur only if women … come to understand that their need for romances is a function of their dependent status as women and of their acceptance of marriage as the only route to female fulfillment. I think we as feminists might help this change along by first learning to recognize that romance reading originates in very real dissatisfaction and embodies a valid, if limited, protest. Then by developing strategies for making that dissatisfaction and its causes consciously available to romance readers and by learning how to encourage that protest in such a way that it will be delivered in the arena of actual social relations rather than acted out in the imagination, we might join hands with women who are, after all, our sisters and together imagine a world whose subsequent creation would lead to the need for a new fantasy altogether.
The essential difference between novel and romance lies in the conception of characterization. The romancer does not attempt to create “real people” so much as stylized figures which expand into psychological archetypes. It is in the romance that we find Jung’s libido, anima, and shadow reflected in the hero, heroine, and villain respectively. That is why the romance so often radiates a glow of subjective intensity that the novel lacks, and why a suggestion of allegory is constantly creeping in around the fringes. Certain elements of character are released in the romance which make it naturally a more revolutionary form than the novel. The novelist deals with personality, with characters wearing their personae or social masks. He needs the framework of a stable society, and many of our best novelists have been conventional to the verge of fussiness. The romancer deals with individuality, with characters in vacuo idealized by revery, and, however conservative he may be, something nihilistic and untamable is likely to keep breaking out of his pages.
Romance feeds on obstacles, short excitation’s, and partings; marriage, on the contrary, is made up of wont, daily propinquity, growing accustomed to one another. Romance calls for “the faraway love” of the troubadours; marriage, for love of “one’s neighbor.” Where, then, a couple have married in obedience to a romance, it is natural that the first time a conflict of temperament or of taste becomes manifest the parties should ask themselves: “Why did I marry?” And it is no less natural that, obsessed by the universal propaganda in favor of romance, each should seize the first occasion to fall in love with somebody else.
The great novels of sex of the nineteenth century were those of Thomas Hardy. By comparison, Lawrence’s books are more subtle and more revealing. Hardy was interested in the results of the sex impulses as they display themselves in normal life. Sex wrecks Jude; sex ennobles and ruins Tess. Lawrence is not much interested in results. When sex is triumphant in Alvina, the lost girl, the story ends. Her story is just beginning, but the only aspect that interested Lawrence has concluded. Sex in itself and for itself is his fascination, and if this makes him narrow it also makes him shrewd.
Sex can be defined fairly adequately in physiological terms as consisting of the building up of bodily tensions and their release. Eros, in contrast, is the experiencing of the personal intentions and meaning of the act. Whereas sex is a rhythm of stimulus and response, Eros is a state of being. The pleasure of sex is described by Freud and others as the reduction of tension; in Eros, on the contrary, we wish not to be released from the excitement but rather to hang on to it, to bask in it, and even to increase it. The end toward which sex points is gratification and relaxation, whereas Eros is a desiring, longing, a forever reaching out, seeking to expand.
There are two kinds of sex, classical and baroque. Classical sex is romantic, profound, serious, emotional, moral, mysterious, spontaneous, abandoned, focused on a particular person, and stereo typically feminine. Baroque sex is pop, playful, funny, experimental, conscious, deliberate, amoral, anonymous, focused on sensation for sensation’s sake, and stereo typically masculine. The classical mentality taken to an extreme is sentimental and finally puritanical; the baroque mentality taken to an extreme is pornographic and finally obscene. Ideally, a sexual relation ought to create a satisfying tension between the two modes (a baroque idea, particularly if the tension is ironic) or else blend them so well that the distinction disappears (a classical aspiration). Lovemaking cannot be totally classical unless it is also totally baroque, since you cannot abandon all restraints and so attain a classical intensity. In practice, however, most people are more inclined to one mode than to the other. A very classical person will be incompatible with a very baroque person unless each can bring out the other’s latent opposite side. Two people who are very one-sided in the same direction can be extremely compatible but risk missing a whole dimension of experience unless they get so deeply into one mode that it becomes the other.
Political life in our country has plowed in muddy channels, and needs the infusion of clearer and cleaner waters. I am not sure that women are naturally so much better than men that they will clear the stream by the virtue of their womanhood; it is not through sex but through character that the best influence of women upon the life of the nation must be exerted.
अस्पतालको सगाल पलङमा
सेतो सुकिलो ओच्छ्यान पाई
नयाँ रोगी रम्दछ पहिले
खोल र तन्ना सुम्सुम्याई
अहा ! कस्तो सफा विच्छौना,
हातको मयल पनि सर्ला जस्तो
कति नरम औ कति मनोरम
खोपीभित्रको शैय्या जस्तो ।
तर जब ओल्टेकोल्टे गर्दा
तन्ना खोल अलि सर्न जान्छ ,
अनि रोगीको आँखा सहसा
भित्री तहमा पर्न जान्छ ।
ती सुकिला खोलहरूभित्र
कति थाङ्ना ती सिरह डसना
सयौं वर्षको अवशेषपना
छ्या! छ्या!! देख्दै डुङ्ग गनाउने
पीप रगतका टाटैटाटा
जति पल्टायो उति घिन लाग्दो
दिशापिशाबले कुहिँदा पाटा
देख्दछ जब यो रोगी
अनि पो खुल्दछ उसमा भित्री पोल
नब्य झैँ लाग्ने, भव्य झैँ लाग्ने,
ओछ्यान रहेछ केवल खोल
दारा किट्छ अनि त्यो रोगी
चिच्याउन लाग्छ च्यात्तै खोल
खोल खोलमै कति दिन धान्छौ
जगजीवनको मोल ।
तर नारी समाई भन्दछ डाक्टर
छैन यसको ब्रेन कन्ट्रोल
अनि धाइले प्याइदिन्छे
मुसुक्क हाँस्तै रङ्गिन झोल ।
Labor and labor,
labor is your destiny.
There is love
There is truth
And there is money.
labor is your destiny.
To establish yourself
Labor is but a necessity.
Make each and every day
A labor day and go on
working with an aim
To attain the truth.
Your labor is unbroken bliss,
Your labor is self-bliss.
Merge into your labor, my dear,
And see how you are winning
The fire and the water,
And see how finer you are here.
The rattle of wind in sclerophyll
is the murmur of cosmic dust
and particle shift. With each break
in the clouds the queue shuffles
a patient step forward.
Beyond the observatory’s dim glow
bush is black as dark matter tonight;
the distant river is negative space,
and the city on the other side
a scattered galaxy.
Swathed in overcoats against the cold
we wait and wait to put an eye to the telescope.
Through a fish-eye lens
the universe gazes back
into the great eye of humanity
orbiting a mundane star on the outer margins
of the Milky Way, one stella cluster
among the infinite.