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Failure is just another name for much of real life: much of what we set out to accomplish ends in failure, at least in our own eyes. Who set the bar so high that most of our attempts to sail gracefully over it on the viewless wings of Poesy end in an undignified scramble or a nasty fall into the mud? Who told us we had to succeed at any cost?
—Margaret Atwood
Wednesday, July 24, 2019

In bliss (de Quevedo)

Su tumba fue su amada;
hermosa, sí, pero temprana y breve;
ciega y enamorada,
mucho al amor y poco al tiempo debe;
y pues en sus amores se deshace,
escríbase:  Aqui goza, donde yace.

Its tomb was its beloved;
lovely, yes, but fleetingly so;
blind and enamored,
much to love it owes, little to time;
and because it was by loving undone,
engrave:  it lies in bliss where it died.

Francisco de Quevedo, from "Túmulo de la mariposa"

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Michael C. Rush (aka M. C. Rush)
Direct inquires to:  rushmc @ webnesia.com

(Site was originally called @ Wit's End, then
The Shattered Mirror, before becoming Webnesia.)

Defender of Truth & Justice since (approx.) 1973!