It’s high time the British Museum returned the looted Parthenon Marbles stolen from Greece. You know, ‘dear british museum directors’ one day they will be here where they belong and you will have no choice on the matter. As I see it, you have already run out of false excuses and arguments.
They will be back home one day, and we will be dancing in the streets of Athens in celebration and if that’s too far into the future and I am not alive by then, I’ll do like Melina and I’ll be born again long enough to see them home where they belong.
You don’t think I can do that? watch me! god is on my side on this!
Tomas did not realize at the time that metaphors are dangerous. Metaphors are not to be trifled with. A single metaphor can give birth to love… Which is to say, love begins at the point when a woman enters her first word into our poetic memory.
~ Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being
Like the Earth that yawns and flings aside the sheets of night and, naked, meets the day, out of darkness, out of sleep I come to kneel at last, who never learned to pray. Like a bird that fills its silver throat with praise of all each new-dawned day will bring, full of hope and filled with simple awe I lift my voice, who never learned to sing. Like the tumbleweed before the wind which moves with grace for all it moves by chance, I set myself adrift and seek the breeze to leap for joy, who never learned to dance. Because I love, the world is fresh and new. I learn, I am, I say myself … for you.
A courbe de tes yeux fait le tour de mon coeur, Un rond de danse et de douceur, Auréole du temps, berceau nocturne et sûr, Et si je ne sais plus tout ce que j’ai vécu C’est que tes yeux ne m’ont pas toujours vu. Feuilles de jour et mousse de rosée, Roseaux du vent, sourires parfumés, Ailes couvrant le monde de lumière, Bateaux chargés du ciel et de la mer, Chasseurs des bruits et sources de couleurs, Parfums éclos d’une couvée d’aurores Qui gît toujours sur la paille des astres, Comme le jour dépend de l’innocence Le monde entier dépend de tes yeux purs Et tout mon sang coule dans leurs regards.
“Do not let your fire go out.Replace an irreplaceable spark in the hopeless swamps of the not quite, the not yet, and the not at all. Do not let the hero in your soul perish in lonely frustrations for the life you deserve but never been able to reach. The world you desire can be won, it exists, it is real, it is possible, and it is yours.”
Eve Ensle’s fascinating and profoundly moving play based on interviews with hundreds of women who discussed their vaginas with her.
Not a typical play- don’t expect to see what you’re accustomed to - the staging is very simple, with no music or props just women sitting on three stools, in front of the audience talking. It’s about women telling their own poignant stories, feeling good about their bodies and about themselves without maligning the opposite sex, which is a good thing.
I loved it, it was funny, it was sad, but inspirational and thought provoking all the way through. At the end, I left with a big smile on my face!
"Cherish your solitude. Take trains by yourself to places you have never been. Sleep alone under the stars. Learn how to to drive a stick shift. Go so far away that you stop being afraid of not coming back. Say no whenever you don’t want to do something. Say yes if your instincts are strong, even if everyone around you disagrees. Decide whether you want to be liked or admired. Decide if fitting in is more important than finding out what you’re doing here. Believe in Kissing.