I don’t think there’s anything wrong with telling the truth. I know it isn’t fashionable.
When summer gathers up her robes of glory, and like a dream of beauty glides away.
Beside the brook and on the umbered meadow, Where yellow fern-tufts fleck the faded ground, With folded lids beneath their palmy shadow The gentian nods in dewy slumbers bound.
The aster greets us as we pass With her faint smile.
The shy little Mayflower weaves her nest, But the south wind sighs o'er the fragrant loam, And betrays the path to her woodland home.
Malta is the only country in the world where the local delicacy is the bread.
Put in the superlatives yourselves, I'm running out. It's already been a while now that he has been outstanding. He's more than decisive in every way. That he's capable of doing everything that he does at his age is something impressive, that doesn't make any sense.
For the moment a lot of attention is given to economic concerns, and these problems at hand easily eclipse all others. But the remedies proposed for these problems all come out of outmoded ways of thinking. . . The remedy? Compassion. The logical feeling that we find in ourselves if we search deeply enough that has to be exercised toward all other living creatures.
Every civilized human being, whatever his conscious development, is still an archaic man at the deeper levels of his psyche. Just as the human body connects us with the mammals and displays numerous relics of earlier evolutionary stages going back to even the reptilian age, so the human psyche is likewise a product of evolution which, when followed up to its origins, show countless archaic traits.