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Views from our home in Clarenville, Newfoundland, Canada.
We've worked/lived in South Africa, Namibia, Saudi Arabia, United Arab
Emirates, and Canada. We speak or understand English/Afrikaans/Dutch/Flemish, basic French and German (and some very basic medical Arabic/Zulu).
Our old guestbook was unfortunately hijacked by spambots - to view the old guestbook click here
Please sign our new guestbook here
, we would love to see which part of the world you signed in from.
Go placidly amid the noise and haste and remember what peace there may be in
silence.
As far as possible without
surrender, be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and
clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and ignorant; they too have their
story.
Be yourself. Especially do
not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love, for in the face of all
aridity and disenchantment, it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of
the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of
spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
Beyond a wholesome
discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe. No less
than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it
is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with
God, whatever you perceive him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham,
drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be careful. Strive
to be happy.
Do Not Go Gentle into
that Good Night
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
