Move him into the sun—
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields unsown.
Always it awoke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
The kind old sun will know.
Think how it wakes the seeds—
Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs so dear-achieved, are sides
Full-nerved,—still warm,—too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
—O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth’s sleep at all?
“The messy parts are the best parts.” || asked by anon
This is my favorite selfie. Coincidentally, it’s the first photo I took with my DSLR.
Ernest Hemingway once sent F. Scott Fitzgerald a typescript of “A Farewell to Arms”. Fitzgerald sent back ten pages of edits and comments, signing off with “A beautiful book it is!” You can see Hemingway’s first reaction above (signed EH).
Well said, Ernest!
Friends Bucket List 32 » Klimt