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Marriage is
the clue to human life, but there
is no marriage apart from the
wheeling sun and the nodding
earth, from the straying of the
planets and the magnificence of
the fixed stars. Is not man
different, utterly different, at
dawn from what he is at sunset /
and a woman too? And does not the
changing harmony and discord of
their variation make the secret
music of life? And is it not so
throughout life? A man is
different at thirty, forty, at
fifty, at sixty, at seventy: and
the woman at his side is
different. But is there not some
strange conjunction in their
differences? Is there not some
peculiar harmony, through youth,
the period of childbirth, the
period of florescence and young
children, the period of woman’s
change of life, painful yet also a
renewal, the period of waning
passion but mellowing delight of
affection, the dim, unequal period
of the approach of death, when the
man and woman look at one another
with the dim apprehension of
separation that is really not a
separation: is there not,
throughout it all, some unseen,
unknown interplay of balance,
harmony, completions like some
soundless symphony which moves
with a rhythm from phase to phase,
so different, so very different in
the various movements, and yet one
symphony, made out of the
soundless singing of two strange
and incompatible lives, a mans and
a womans?
Man dies, and woman dies, and
perhaps separate the souls go back
to the Creator. Who knows? But we
know that the oneness of the
bloodstream of man and woman in
marriage completes the universe,
as far as humanity is concerned,
completes the streaming of the sun
and the flowing of the stars.
D. H.
Laurence
I love you,
Not only for what you are But for
what I am When I am with you.
I love you Not only for what You
have made of yourself But for what
You are making of me.
I love you For the part of me That
you bring out; I love you For,
putting your hand Into my
heaped—up heart And passing over
All the foolish, weak things
That you can’t help Dimly seeing
there, And for drawing out Into
the light All the beautiful
belongings That no one else had
looked Quite far enough to find.
I love you because you... Are
helping me to make Of the lumber
of my life Not a tavern But a
temple; Out of works Of my every
day Not a reproach But a song.
I love you Because you have done
More than any creed Could have
done To make me good And more than
any fate Could have done To make
me happy.
You have done it Without a touch,
Without a word, Without a sign.
You have done it By being
yourself. Perhaps that is what
Being a friend means, After all.
I love you
for what you are, but I love you
yet more for what you are going to
be. I love you not so much for
your realities as for your ideals.
I pray for your desires that they
may be great, rather than for your
satisfactions, which may be so
hazardously little. A satisfied
flower is one whose petals are
about to fall. The most beautiful
rose is one hardly more than a bud
wherein the pangs and ecstasies of
desire are working for a larger
and finer growth. Not always shall
you be what you are now. You are
going forward toward something
great. I am on the way with you
and therefore I love you.
Carl
Sandburg
What is a
friend? I will tell you. It is a
person with whom you dare to be
yourself. Your soul can be naked
with them. They seem to ask of you
to put on nothing, only to be what
you are. They do not want you to
be better or worse. When you are
with them, you feel as a prisoner
feels who has been declared
innocent. You do not have to be on
your guard, you can say what you
think, so long as it is genuinely
you. They understand those
contradictions in your nature that
lead others to misjudge you. With
a friend, you breathe freely. You
can avow your little vanities and
envies and hates and vicious
sparks, your meanness, and
absurdities and (in opening them
up) they are lost dissolves on the
white ocean of their loyalty. A
friend understands. You do not
have to be careful. You can abuse
them, neglect them, tolerate them.
Best of all, you can keep still
with them. It makes no matter.
They like you. They are like fire
that purges to the bone. They
understand. You can weep with
them, sing with them, laugh with
them, pray with them. Through it
all and underneath they see, know,
and love you.
A friend? What is a friend? Just
one, I repeat, with whom you dare
to be yourself.
Unknown
Let's grow
old together... beginning with
today.
Let's work slowly with each other
and build a relationship that we
can both enjoy being a part of.
Let's share love and understand
that neither of us is perfect; we
are both subject to human
frailties.
Let's hold each other close and
whisper though the night--pledging
our love, honoring our commitment.
Let's encourage each other to
pursue our dreams, even when we're
weary from trying.
Let's expect the best that we both
have to give and still love when
we fall short of our expectations.
Let's be friends and respect each
other's individual personality and
give one another room to grow.
Let's be candid with each other
and point out strengths and
weaknesses.
Let's understand each other's
personal philosophy, even if we
don't agree.
Let's lie awake long into the
night sharing our innermost
secrets.
Let's be friends as well as
lovers.
Let's laugh at time and plan with
each other and wonder how we ever
got along without this love we've
found.
Let's never take for granted these
moments that we've shared, but
always be reminded of how
intensely we have learned to live,
how completely we have learned to
love.
Let's grow old together...
and look back on life and smile.
Braxton
Brown and Peggy Smith
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