It's that time in this blog's life where it has outlived its significance. I shall still be blogging, sporadically as I currently am, at "off the cuff" but I find twitter a better way to post links, pictures and impulse micro-posts. Do follow my tweets at the handle @pvrahul
Adiós amigos
April 19, 2009
January 14, 2009
January 12, 2009
Fear Not, Dear Friend, But Freely Live Your Days
Fear not, dear friend, but freely live your days
Though lesser lives should suffer. Such am I,
A lesser life, that what is his of sky
Gladly would give for you, and what of praise.
Step, without trouble, down the sunlit ways.
We that have touched your raiment, are made whole
From all the selfish cankers of man's soul,
And we would see you happy, dear, or die.
Therefore be brave, and therefore, dear, be free;
Try all things resolutely, till the best,
Out of all lesser betters, you shall find;
And we, who have learned greatness from you, we,
Your lovers, with a still, contented mind,
See you well anchored in some port of rest.
by Robert Louis Stevenson
Though lesser lives should suffer. Such am I,
A lesser life, that what is his of sky
Gladly would give for you, and what of praise.
Step, without trouble, down the sunlit ways.
We that have touched your raiment, are made whole
From all the selfish cankers of man's soul,
And we would see you happy, dear, or die.
Therefore be brave, and therefore, dear, be free;
Try all things resolutely, till the best,
Out of all lesser betters, you shall find;
And we, who have learned greatness from you, we,
Your lovers, with a still, contented mind,
See you well anchored in some port of rest.
by Robert Louis Stevenson
November 05, 2008
November 04, 2008
October 28, 2008
October 19, 2008
October 06, 2008
September 27, 2008
Miles to go before I sleep
One of my favourite poems growing up... The last 4 lines, in my opinion, are among the best I've ever read...
Stopping by the woods on a snowy evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
Stopping by the woods on a snowy evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there's some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
September 25, 2008
US Supreme court and foreign policy
From this weekend's new york times magazine, a thought-provoking article on on forthcoming challenges to the united states, its supreme court and the conduct and interpretation of international law...
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