A warm December with you

Doubt thou the stars are fire; 
Doubt that the sun doth move; 
Doubt truth to be a liar; 
But never doubt I love. 
O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers; 
I have not art to reckon my groans: but that 
I love thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu


I've never read Shakespeare. I'll stop there, because a blogpost is not enough to document all the 'normal' things that I have wanted to do and haven't. Some, because there hasn't been time to do them the way they are meant to be done - going all out. Most, because there just hasn't been the right combination of happenstance and Will to transform. The right combination of talent and effort. The right combination of opportunity and motive power.

The trouble with a weak will is that it neither attacks nor recedes. It neither goes after the desire with complete force, nor accepts the absence of capacity to achieve. When it forgives, it forgives too easily; when it chides, its criticism is destructive. Its happinesses are meager and too quick, but far worse, its sadnesses are not tragic. A breakdown of self integrity causes but the mere disappointment of a moment, soon forgotten.

Self Actualization is optional, it says.

I have not art to reckon my groans: but that 
I love thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu