Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

by Alfred Lord Tennyson

Goethe's Faust

Until one is committed, there is hesitancy,
the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness.
Concerning all acts of initiative and creation there is
one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills
countless ideas and splendid plans:

That the moment one definitely commits oneself,
then Providence moves too.
All sorts of things occur to help one
that would never otherwise have occured.
A whole stream of events issue from the decision,
raising in one's favour all manner of unforeseen incidents
and meetings and material assistance,
which no man could have dreamed would have come his way.
Whatever you can dream you can, begin it.
Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.

by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe


If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait but not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same.
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

by Rudyard Kipling

A Wanderer's Song

A wind's in the heart of me,
A fire's in my heels,
I am tired of brick and stone and
Rumbling wagon wheels;
I hunger for the sea's edge,
The limit of the land,
Where the wild old Atlantic
Is shouting on the sand.

Oh, I am tired of brick and stone,
The heart of me is sick,
For windy green, unquiet sea,
The realm of Moby Dick;
And I'll be going, going, from the
Roaring of the wheels,
For the wind's in the heart of me,
A fore's in my heels.
by John Masefield.

Me, My Life

The 'expert' claim my income
Is too low to meet my needs,
They can't get it thru their 'thinkum'
That my world-wide family feeds
On richer fare than city man
With all his gourmet greeds.

I ply no trade and work no job,
I'm referred to as being lazy
By those who brand me as a slob
For not working like crazy
To earn the cash to pay the bills
For objectives which seems hazy.
My home is paid for all in cash,
But I can't buy things on credit
That the city man discards as trash
Before he's cleared his debit
To the banks and money lending houses
Which buy your life before you've led it.
Neighbors few and far between
Each port and harbors suits me fine,
For all those friends of hundreds seem
The choice of neighbor, theirs and mine,
Makes bonds of love and leaving
Bitter-sweet like peasant wine.
For wheels of transport I've little use,
My highways of the wind and sun
I travel quite without abuse
From dirt and noise and when I've done
My daily chores and lived each day anew
I anticipate with pleasure the new day yet to come.
My life is sometimes hard but real,
Adventures shapes my mind
To learn and live and give and feel
The quality of pleasure which I find
In lifestyle simple, unadorned by notions
Vague of wealth and time.
by Paul Malkinson.

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