Tao of dating ebooks

If you want to become wise beyond your years, try forgetting a few things for once. Anything to acclimate yourself to articulating your thoughts clearly and quickly.

tao of dating  ebooks-21

The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation, it is odorless, It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it, I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked, I am mad for it to be in contact with me. Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems, You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions of suns left,) You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books, You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me, You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self.

The smoke of my own breath, Echoes, ripples, buzz'd whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine, My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood and air through my lungs, The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and dark-color'd sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn, The sound of the belch'd words of my voice loos'd to the eddies of the wind, A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms, The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag, The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hill-sides, The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun. 3 I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the beginning and the end, But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.

Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat, Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not even the best, Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.

I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning, How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn'd over upon me, And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart, And reach'd till you felt my beard, and reach'd till you held my feet.

Otherwise your vast knowledge of everybody else’s business is nothing but empty calories. (I'm looking at you, Haley Joel Osment.): Being wise beyond your years isn’t about the years themselves; it’s about what happened during those years, and how you reflect upon that.

Or listening to audio programs in your car on the commute to work. You need to run the gauntlet of genuine experience. My mate Joey took the hardest, lowest paying job at his father’s plumbing company. I moved across the country to Portland because I’d never been there, didn’t know anybody and didn’t have a job. All of these situations were intentional, risk-laden, out of our comfort zones and chock-full of opportunities to depend on our own resources to survive. How much longer can you realistically suffer from Peter Pan Syndrome? If you want to be remembered as being wise beyond your years, claim expertise on one domain: Yourself. Do you need a copy of US Weekly or a blank journal? For example, when I sit next to people on airplanes whose actions are hurried, violent, stressed, frustrated and oxygen-deficient, it always makes me smile. But I’m so over that now.” Again, this isn’t said with arrogance or smugness; rather, with celebration and recognition of wisdom you didn’t recognize until you encounter a person who practiced the opposite. The problem is, most people don’t have the confidence that when they open their mouth, something good will come out.” What about you? You'll end up like one of those annoying, hyper-articulate child actors that people are tired of by the time they're twelve.

Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and knowledge that pass all the argument of the earth, And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my own, And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own, And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women my sisters and lovers, And that a kelson of the creation is love, And limitless are leaves stiff or drooping in the fields, And brown ants in the little wells beneath them, And mossy scabs of the worm fence, heap'd stones, elder, mullein and poke-weed. fetching it to me with full hands; How could I answer the child? I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord, A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt, Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose?

I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.

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