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Foil'd by our fellow-men, depress'd, outworn,
We leave the brutal world to take its way,
And, Patience! in another life, we say
The world shall be thrust down, and we up-borne.

And will not, then, the immortal armies scorn
The world's poor, routed leavings? or will they,
Who fail'd under the heat of this life's day,
Support the fervours of the heavenly morn?

No, no! the energy of life may be
Kept on after the grave, but not begun;
And he who flagg'd not in the earthly strife,

From strength to strength advancing only he,
His soul well-knit, and all his battles won,
Mounts, and that hardly, to eternal life.

by Matthew Arnold

Luchad, y puede que muráis. Huid y viviréis... un tiempo al menos. Y cuando estéis en vuestro lecho de muerte dentro de muchos años, ¿no cambiaréis todos los días desde aquí hasta entonces por una oportunidad, sólo una oportunidad, de volver aquí y decir a nuestros enemigos: Pueden quitarnos la vida, pero jamás nos quitarán... ¡¡¡la libertad!!!

Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me,
Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee;
Sounds of the rude world heard in the day,
Lull'd by the moonlight have all pass'd away!

Beautiful dreamer, queen of my song,
List while I woo thee with soft melody;
Gone are the cares of life's busy throng.

Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!

Beautiful dreamer, out on the sea,
Mermaids are chaunting the wild lorelie;
Over the streamlet vapors are borne,
Waiting to fade at the bright coming morn.

Beautiful dreamer, beam on my heart,
E'en as the morn on the streamlet and sea;
Then will all clouds of sorrow depart,

Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!
by Stephen Foster

A Song from the Suds

Queen of my tub, I merrily sing,
While the white foam raises high,
And sturdily wash, and rinse, and wring,
And fasten the clothes to dry;
Then out in the free fresh air they swing,
Under the sunny sky.

I wish we could wash from our hearts and our souls
The stains of the week away,
And let water and air by their magic make
Ourselves as pure as they;
Then on the earth there would be indeed
A glorious washing day!

Along the path of a useful life
Will heart's-ease ever bloom;
The busy mind has no time to think
Of sorrow, or care, or gloom;
And anxious thoughts may be swept away
As we busily wield a broom.

I am glad a task to me is given
To labor at day by day;
For it brings me health, and strength, and hope,
And I cheerfully learn to say-
"Head, you may think; heart, you may feel;
But hand, you shall work always!"

Louisa May Alcott

There is no place you can go to hide from the thoughts
that you keep contemplating over and over inside your mind...

There is no place you can venture where your true emotions
will be concealed and the secrets of your heart will not show...

There is no place in this whole wide world you can travel
to where your spirit does not direct or guide you towards your destiny...

Life is the experience of being you;
no one can ever be someone other than who they are...

The beauty found in each and every person is the essence of life...
Simply ... you are who you are and for whatever time you have to be,

You must not try to shadow yourself,
but, rather, express yourself...

Author Unknown

La ceniza es una distancia de islas

y la espuma una lentitud de hueso;

en la desembocadura de los ojos

un enredijo de algas.

Impaciencia de gaviotas el atardecer.

Ecos del tiempo:

el cieno de la memoria

custodia rompientes, escamas, astros,

la sal de la bruma.

Trasiego de barcos el horizonte.

El despedazado velamen

ondea su voluntad de norte

y el oleaje agita el óxido, iza el ancla,

y la fría palpitación de la mar abierta

también arrastra las islas.

Por las rendijas de la tarde atisbo el cristal del otoño (reflejos que escarban las sombras) en colinas distantes que amarillean, en el viraje de los relieves de lava, en el labrado tiempo que es ceniza y es memoria, en la timidez de la hoja que desnuda la rama (aterida ninfa).
Sin el tumulto del viento, la indolencia del cielo, la perenne soledad de los luidos astros, en dejadez de nubes el parpadeo de la Luna y el sesgo de mis ojos en la geoda del frío (sombras que escarban los reflejos). Silencioso, el vaivén de la nostalgia (bruñido espejismo).

Juan Luis Campos

Despierta el frío del amanecer.

temblando, en el vaho de la ventana.

Juan Luis Campos

The Electric Brae is a gravity hill in Ayrshire, Scotland where cars appear to be drawn uphill by some mysterious attraction. The Lowland Scots word brae means a hill-slope or brow (with which it is cognate), and the "electric" name was given when electricity was a new technology associated with strange forces.

There is more than one stretch of road known as Electric Brae, but the most famous is on the A719, south of Dunure, not far from Ayr, and heading east towards Maybole. Though the road appears to be running uphill, a suitably free-running vehicle will slowly move off from a standstill. Metal road signs which used to mark the place have tended to be taken by visitors, and have been replaced by a stone cairn which is inscribed with an explanation (conversions to metric not in the original):

"The ELECTRIC BRAE", known locally as CROY BRAE.
This runs the quarter mile [400 m] from the bend overlooking Croy railway viaduct in the west (286 feet [87 m] Above Ordnance Datum) to the wooded Craigencroy Glen (303 feet [92 m] A.O.D.) to the east.
Whilst there is this slope of 1 in 86 upwards from the bend at the Glen, the configuration of the land on either side of the road provides an optical illusion making it look as if the slope is going the other way.
Therefore, a stationary car on the road with the brakes off will appear to move slowly uphill.
The term 'Electric Brae' dates from a time when it was incorrectly thought to be a phenomenon caused by electric or magnetic attraction within the Brae.
During the Second World War, the brae was visited by many American personnel from the air-base at Prestwick, and General Dwight D Eisenhower who had a flat nearby at Culzean Castle brought visitors to see the phenomenon. In 1992, the name was brought wider fame by the novel Electric Brae by Andrew Greig. The name has also been applied to other slopes in Scotland: for example, on the Struie Road in Easter Ross, about ten miles (15 km) from Ardgay

In their grave corner, the players
Deploy the slow pieces. And the chessboard
Detains them until dawn in its severe
Compass in which two colors hate each other.

Within it the shapes give off a magic
Strength: Homeric tower, and nimble
Horse, a fighting queen, a backward king,
A bishop on the bias, and aggressive pawns.

When the players have departed, and
When time has consumed them utterly,
The ritual will not have ended.

That war first flamed out in the east
Whose amphitheatre is now the world.
And like the other, this game is infinite.

II

Slight king, oblique bishop, and a queen
Blood-lusting; upright tower, crafty pawn--
Over the black and the white of their path
They foray and deliver armed battle.

They do not know it is the artful hand
Of the player that rules their fate
They do not know that an adamant rigor
Subdues their free will and their span.

But the player likewise is a prisoner
(The maxim is Omar's) on another board (1)
Of dead-black nights and of white days

God moves the player and he, the piece.
What god behind God originates the scheme

Of dust and time and dream and agony?

Jorge Luis Borges