Traditional science is all about finding shortcuts.
When you return, the youngest of the seers, Released from fetters of ancestral pose, There will be beauty waiting down the years Revisions of the ruby and the rose.
You cannot choose your battlefield, God does that for you. But you can plant a standard where a standard never flew.
In the darkness, who would answer for the color of a rose, Or the vestments of the May moth and the pilgrimage it goes?
The sign work of the Orient it runneth up and down; The Talmud stalks from right to left, a rabbi in a gown; The Roman rolls from left to right from Maytime unto May; But the gods shake up their symbols in an absent-minded way. Their language runs to circles like the language of the eyes, Emphasised by strange dilations with little panting sighs.
The starry brocade of the summer night Is linked to us as part of our estate; And every bee that wings its sidelong flight Assurance of a sweeter, fairer fate.
Let go the lure The striving to unmake; Behold the truth Whenever heart may ache There is a glory In a great mistake.
Winners hate losing more than changing while others hate changing more than losing.
But what would interest you about the brook, It's always cold in summer, warm in winter.
It is often easier to make progress on mega-ambitious dreams. . . . Since no one else is crazy enough to do it, you have little competition.
Most organizations should be pro-active, but philanthropists concerned with poverty should deliberately be reactive, learning from the efforts of ordinary folks who tired of looking the other way as their communities fell apart.