See with Blinding Sight, and with fierce tears pray

A little rage, a little light
A little forked lightening, into the night
Then, no dying of the light......


Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; dust thou art, to dust returnest, was not spoken of the soul. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Just what we really are matters more than what other people think of us.
Jawaharlal Nehru

It is with the soul that we grasp the essence of another
human being, not with the mind, not even with the heart.
Henry Miller

Do not go gentle into that good night.
Old age should burn and rave, at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their works had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you , my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears. I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light

Dylan Thomas