Test 2

Test

reading, reading, reading. My brain feels like it's going to blow...

The Soul of the Rose by John Waterhouse

there is always reason to celebrate:

dream.

Dreams

All people dream, but not equally.
Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their mind,
Wake in the morning to find that it was vanity.

But the dreamers of the day are dangerous people,
For they dream their dreams with open eyes,
And make them come true.

-DH Lawrence

there is always somebody who loves you. always

life.

word of the day:

1. Byz-an-tine [bih-zan-tin]
   adj
   
2. - complex or intricate

Psalm 91:4

He will cover you with his feathers,
and under his wings you will find refuge;
his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.

Some favourite things (in no particular order):

1. red shoes and lace

2. hanging things

3. train stations

4. sienna (the colour...and also the town!)

5. fruit salad

in your eyes...

Eyes - Rogue Waves

On becoming a word shaker.

The Book Thief by Mark Zusak

"The best word shakers were those who understood the true power of words. They were able to climb the highest."

Blowing in the Wind

http://www.misterrob.co.uk/

Blowing in the Wind

How many years can a mountain exist
Before it's washed to the sea?
Yes, and how many years can some people exist
Before they're allowed to be free?
Yes, and how many times can a man turn his head,
And pretend that he just doesn't see?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.

- Bob Dylan

believe.

still no sun...

THE SUN WILL COME OUT TOMORROW!

a perfect place to dream.

Bright Star

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--
No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death.

John Keats