I originate from my mother. I had no choice in the matter.
A true man of Britain is his own castle.
He may roam the lands those to which we are familiar and those to which are new found but he himself is an Island, a land, a continent and an entire world.
The true British took on the world and defeated much of it on even terms and in doing to proved some of those among us are a world unto themselves but sadly in any given world most among it are part yet not the parcel.
Of all the things there are the only thing you can be sure of and that you are in full possession of is yourself.
Discover that treasure before moving on to others.
Sadly the sorrowful tale of the common man is for another to find their own treasure before they might find it themselves.
Most men quite sadly lose possession of themselves long before their time has run out.
Also I don't read books so much so don't know this poem that comes up in search. Seems defeatist to me. Like depression. A superfluous way of saying we're all just a cog in the machine or a leaf in the wind. We call that sort of tiny thing, taking a basic obvious thing but then dressing it up to try to make it something big, gay.
Though I must confess their comes a point of mastery where we risk our fate for that of others.
Lol.... you Canadian or British?
I originate from my mother. I had no choice in the matter.
A true man of Britain is his own castle.
He may roam the lands those to which we are familiar and those to which are new found but he himself is an Island, a land, a continent and an entire world.
The true British took on the world and defeated much of it on even terms and in doing to proved some of those among us are a world unto themselves but sadly in any given world most among it are part yet not the parcel.
No man is an island
Yes and no.
Of all the things there are the only thing you can be sure of and that you are in full possession of is yourself.
Discover that treasure before moving on to others.
Sadly the sorrowful tale of the common man is for another to find their own treasure before they might find it themselves.
Most men quite sadly lose possession of themselves long before their time has run out.
Also I don't read books so much so don't know this poem that comes up in search. Seems defeatist to me. Like depression. A superfluous way of saying we're all just a cog in the machine or a leaf in the wind. We call that sort of tiny thing, taking a basic obvious thing but then dressing it up to try to make it something big, gay.
Though I must confess their comes a point of mastery where we risk our fate for that of others.
(fat nadler waddles into the chat)
Om my God, is that thing going to capsize?
But some hams are a planet.
I like your name haha
Pasty. Off her rocker. Rummage. A touch of Monty Python flair. Gotta be a Brit.