It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again (...) who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement and who at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly.
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---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Streching her legs she moved on, Over-hearing whispers, inside or around going on? Hardly could she figure out the fake As she sat tight on a rock near the shining lake. The...
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The spring exhales Free from any restraining bounds Seeking birds' melodious sounds, Set I to the far showy meadows Where green narrow-leaved weed grows. Amongst an orchard and a grassland, On a venerable upright rock did I stand; At the landscape having...
