Thursday, March 12, 2026

Language

Language is courage:
the ability to conceive a thought,
to speak it, and by doing so to make it true.

    Salman Rushdie, The Satanic Verses

 

 

 

 

Wednesday, March 11, 2026

A winning hand

Life is not always a matter of holding good cards,
    but sometimes, playing a poor hand well.

        Dan Millman, Sacred Journey of the Peaceful Warrior

 

 

 

 

 

Tuesday, March 10, 2026

Treat yourself

One of the secrets of a happy life
    is continuous small treats,
        and if some of these can be inexpensive
            and quickly procured so much the better.

                Iris Murdoch, The Sea, the Sea

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A distinction

Mobilizing is about getting people to do a thing,
    and organizing is about getting people to become
        the kind of people who do what needs to be done.

                Hahrie Han, The New Yorker, October 2024

Monday, March 9, 2026

Spring forward

I object to being told that I am saving daylight
when my reason tells me that I am doing nothing of the kind...
At the back of the Daylight Saving scheme,
I detect the bony, blue-fingered hand of Puritanism,
eager to push people into bed earlier, and get them up earlier,
to make them healthy, wealthy, and wise in spite of themselves.

        Robertson Davies, The Papers of Samuel Marchbanks

 

 

 

 

Sunday, March 8, 2026

International Women's Day

 Join the union, girls, 

        and together say  

                Equal Pay for Equal Work.

                            Susan B. Anthony, The Revolution

 

 

 

 

  

Saturday, March 7, 2026

Poem: Dear March—Come in—

Dear March—Come in—
How glad I am—
I hoped for you before—
Put down your Hat—
You must have walked—
How out of Breath you are—
Dear March, how are you, and the Rest—
Did you leave Nature well—
Oh March, Come right upstairs with me—
I have so much to tell—

I got your Letter, and the Birds—
The Maples never knew that you were coming—
I declare - how Red their Faces grew—
But March, forgive me—
And all those Hills you left for me to Hue—
There was no Purple suitable—
You took it all with you—

Who knocks? That April—
Lock the Door—
I will not be pursued—
He stayed away a Year to call
When I am occupied—
But trifles look so trivial
As soon as you have come

That blame is just as dear as Praise
And Praise as mere as Blame—

            Emily Dickinson