15 discoveries later
Which one keeps calling?
Choose a stream to follow and continue in Read, or shuffle the shelves for another flight.Walden, and On The Duty Of Civil Disobedience
If you hear a different drummer, step to its music—what rhythm have you been ignoring?
Thoreau, Henry DavidWalden, and On The Duty Of Civil Disobedience
If one honest man refusing to cooperate could end an injustice, what are you cooperating with?
Thoreau, Henry DavidThe Prophet
Fill one another’s cup but drink not from the same—how do you stay close and keep yourself?
Kahlil GibranWalden, and On The Duty Of Civil Disobedience
I borrowed an axe and sharpened it—then watched a striped snake thaw and wondered why men remain torpid.
Thoreau, Henry DavidThe Prophet
If your labor lacks love, what are you really building?
Kahlil GibranThe Yellow Wallpaper
A spot lolls like a broken neck, two bulbous eyes glaring upside-down—it's impossible not to feel watched.
Gilman, Charlotte PerkinsAdventures of Huckleberry Finn
You lynching anybody? It’s laughable—you’re brave enough to tar and feather women by daylight, but not to lay hands on a man.
Mark TwainThe Prophet
Can you divide life into 'this for God' and 'this for myself'—and still be whole?
Kahlil GibranThe Odyssey
He cannot resist naming himself the blinder of the Cyclops—will that boast be triumph or fatal error?
HomerNarrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave
They stripped Aunt Hester to the waist, tied her by a hook, and beat her until blood fell.
John ChuaThe Odyssey
Scylla plucks men like fish from the rocks—what choice keeps a ship when doom waits on both sides?
HomerNarrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave
The horn sounded for breakfast—and I watched four whites ride up with two bound men.
John ChuaThe Odyssey
He chose a rugged island over two goddesses—because nothing is dearer than home and parents.
HomerThe Odyssey
Not a god but your father—his revealed identity turns their reverence into a private reckoning.
HomerLeaves of Grass
I feared my love would be wasted; I loved ardently and received no return—what, then, was the true payment?
Walt Whitman