Friday, August 30, 2013


All the forlorn paths,
the sadness led to this
ground beneath his feet; all the possibilities
of the future rest upon his shoulders:
a vice that presses and molds the child
into the shape and likeness of a man;
the man into a crumpled
heap of broken childhood.

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George MacDonald

"Home is ever so far away in the palm of your hand, and how to get there it is of no use to tell you. But you will get there; you must get there; you have to get there. Everybody who is not at home, has to go home."

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