You will be my ain true love - Sting

You'll walk unscathed through musket fire,
No ploughman's blade will cut thee down,
No cutless wound will mark thy face

And you will be my ain true love,
And you will be my ain true love

And as you walk through death's dark veil,
The cannon's thunder can't prevail,
And those who hunt thee down will fail,

And you will be my ain true love,
And you will be my ain true love.

Asleep inside the cannon's mouth,
The captain cries, "Here comes the rout,"
They'll seek to find me north and south,

I've gone to find my ain true love.

The field is cut and bleeds to red.
The cannon balls fly round my head,
The infirmary man may count me dead,

When I've gone to find my ain true love,
I've gone to find my ain true love.

"Will" by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

There is no chance, no destiny, no fate,
Can circumvent or hinder or control
The firm resolve of a determined soul.
Gifts count for nothing; will alone is great;
All things give way before it, soon or late.
What obstacle can stay the mighty force
Of the sea-seeking river in its course,
Or cause the ascending orb of day to wait?
Each well-born soul must win what it deserves.
Let the fool prate of luck. The fortunate
Is he whose earnest purpose never swerves,
Whose slightest action or inaction serves
The one great aim. Why, even Death stands still,
And waits an hour sometimes for such a will.

“I look at what I write so that I can see what I think.” - W.H. Auden

“A lie can travel halfway around the world while the truth is putting on its shoes.” - Mark Twain

We recall that blood was shed, first on one side, then the other, and that all sides make up the blood that flows in our veins. We, the inheritors of this city, are the descendants of Christians and Moors, of blacks and Jews, of Indians and Orientals, in short, of all races and creeds considered good, along with those that have been called bad. We shall leave to the ironic peace of their tombs those disturbed minds that not so long ago invented a Day of the Race for the Portuguese, and instead reclaim the magnificent mixing, not only of bloods but above all of cultures, that gave Portugal its foundation and has made it last to this day. -- Jose Saramago

"Good for the Poet Who ..." - Aleksandr Pushkin

Good for the poet who applies
His art in royal chambers’ splendor.
Of tears and laughter crafty vendor
Adding some truth to many lies,
He tickles the sated taste of lords
For more greatness and awards.
And decorates all their feasts,
Receiving clever praise as fees ...
But, by the doors, so tall and stout —
On sides of stables and backyards —
The people, haunted by the guards,
Hark to this poet in a crowd.

''The short story is a minor art form that in the hands of a very few practitioners becomes major art." - Joyce Carol Oates