A Sunday blessing

My Sunday blessing to you: May the sun shine warm upon your face, and may those who would rob you of its rays, kindly step aside.

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Samuel Johnson (1709-1784): When Diogenes received a visit in his tub from Alexander the Great, and was asked, according to the ancient forms of royal courtesy, what petition he had to offer; "I have nothing," said he, "to ask, but that you would remove to the other side, that you may not, by intercepting the sunshine, take from me what you cannot give me."



Max Eastman (1883-1969):

Diogenes

A hut, and a tree,
And a hill for me,
And a piece of a weedy meadow.
I’ll ask no thing,
Of God or king,      
But to clear away his shadow.

The life an author vs the work of that author

S. J. on that moment when the realization hits: "I will always love!--revere!--live by!--your writings. But you, my dear author, are a jerk and a major letdown."

Samuel Johnson: Among the many inconsistencies which folly produces or infirmity suffers in the human mind, there has often been observed a manifest and striking contrariety between the life of an author and his writings... Those whom the appearance of virtue or the evidence of genius has tempted to a nearer knowledge of the writer, in whose performances they may be found, have indeed had frequent reason to repent their curiosity; the bubble that sparkled before them has become common water at the touch; the phantom of perfection has vanished when they wished to press it to their bosom

Salad Days!!

Do you recall W. B. Yeat's poem to his daughter--and its glorious bongo-beat of a line?

.....It's certain that fine women eat / A crazy salad with their meat....

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Then dig this, daddio and mommio.

Stanza 3 from E. St. V. Millay's cool poem:

PORTRAIT BY A NEIGHBOR

Before she has her floor swept
Or her dishes done,
Any day you’ll find her
A-sunning in the sun!

It’s long after midnight
Her key’s in the lock,
And you never see her chimney smoke
Till past ten o’clock!

She digs in her garden
With a shovel and a spoon,
She weeds her lazy lettuce
By the light of the moon,

She walks up the walk
Like a woman in a dream,
She forgets she borrowed butter
And pays you back cream!

Her lawn looks like a meadow,
And if she mows the place
She leaves the clover standing
And the Queen Anne’s lace!

Advice to a self-conscious writer

You see the words you typed on the screen. They stare (as it were) back at you, stupidly, 

embarrassingly. They are pitiably wrong. Not at all what you mean to say...nor what anyone 

could ever mean to say. They declare, as it were, your ignorance and your failure before the

whole world.

Here’s news you need. No one in the world sees your words. So, your ignorance, your 

defeat, remain well-kept secrets.

Now, be nice to your words. Even learn to love them. Help them grow. They are, as it were, 

your kids. Never be ashamed of your kids.