Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out.. even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
I have the tendency to write random lines here and there and never finish my thoughts. Although they are beautiful words, they do not form coherent lines. They are incomplete, unfinished and meaningless without a reason or thought behind them. They are simply beautiful words, and what is the point in writing words with no meaning?
posted by Danielle @ 4:53 p.m.
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out.. even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms and like books that are written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will find them gradually, without noticing it, and live along some distant day into the answer. ~Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet
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