“Build yourself a book-nest to forget the world without.”

When Harvey’s violent passion she did see, Began to tremble and to flee; Took sanctuary, like Daphne, in a tree

Fill the bowl with rosy wine, around our temples roses twine, And let us cheerfully awhile, like wine and roses, smile.

God the first garden made, and the first city Cain.

The world’s a scene of changes.

And I myself a Catholic will be, So far at least, great saint, to pray to thee. Hail, Bard triumphant! and some care bestow On us, the Poets militant below.

Life for delays and doubts no time does give, None ever yet made haste enough to live.

Thus would I double my life’s fading space;For he that runs it well, runs twice his race.

Man is too near all kinds of beasts,–a fawning dog, a roaring lion, a thieving fox, a robbing wolf, a dissembling crocodile, a treacherous decoy, and a rapacious vulture.

I never had any other desire so strong, and so like covetousness, as that

The motions strait, and round, and swift, and slow, And short and long, were mixt and woven so, Did in such artful Figures smoothly fall, As made this decent measur’d dance of all. And this is Musick.

All the world’s bravery that delights our eyes is but thy several liveries.

Gold begets in brethren hate; Gold in families debate; Gold does friendship separate; Gold does civil wars create.

Why to mute fish should’st thou thyself discoverAnd not to me, thy no less silent lover?

Enjoy the present hour, Be thankful for the past, And neither fear nor wish Th’ approaches of the last.

Why dost thou build up stately rooms on high, Thou who art under ground to lie? Thou sow’st and plantest, but no fruit must see, For death, alas! is reaping thee.

There Daphne’s Lover stopped, and thought it much The very leaves of her to touch: But Harvey, our Apollo, stopp’d not so; Into the Bark and Root he after her did go!

Remorse, the fatal egg by pleasure laid, In every bosom where her nest is made, Hatched by the beams of truth, denies him rest, And proves a raging scorpion in his breast.

I’m just a man, no more or no less. Bad as the worst, good as the best.

My goal was just to try and be the best player on my high school team, and look where I am now. And that was still my goal as a young kid, just to try and be a little better than my brother was.

To be thrilled by the stars at night; to be elated over a bird’s nest or a wildflower in spring – these are some of the rewards of the simple life.

Because we believe that somewhere in the nest of paradigms contained in the phrase “missional church” lies nothing less that the future viability of Western Christianity.

In missional churches, the baby birds have been pushed out of the nest and are learning to fly for themselves.

I think we need to have a nest of something which is family.