"i never thought you were a fool
but darling look at you

you got to get yourself together
you got stuck in a moment
and now you can't get out of it"

I miss the rain, and how it pelts heavily against the windows at night
while I lie cooped up, tucked away. Safe.

Take all I am, Lord and all that I cling to
You are my Saviour, I owe everything to
Take all the treasures that lie in my storehouse
They cannot follow when I enter your house

So I surrender all to You
I surrender all

Take all my cravings for vain recognition
Fleshly indulgence and worldly ambition
I want so much Lord to make You the focus
To serve You in secret and never be noticed

So I surrender all to You
I surrender all

Take all my hunger for all that's forbidden
Every desire and sin I keep hidden
Search me and know me, I want to bring to You
A life that is holy
and sanctified through You

So I surrender all to You
I surrender all

B: reminded me of you


Good to know I'm in your thoughts! (however misleading this may look)

So guess what I woke up at eight to make my ten o'clock only to arrive early to see other students there with powerpoint slides of graphs instead of Yeats, then I came to realise my class actually, essentially, had always and still does, start at noon. Champion.

but Coraline in 3D! Too bad one can't use them as sunglasses.

Nino is late. Amelie can only see two explanations.

One, he didn't get the photo. Two, before he could assemble it, a gang of bank robbers took him hostage. The cops gave chase. They got away but he caused a crash. When he came to, he'd lost his memory. An ex-con picked him up, mistook him for a fugitive and shipped him to Istanbul. There he met some Afghan raiders who took him to steal some Russian warheads. But their truck hit a mine in Tajikistan. He survived, took to the hills and became a Mujaheddin. Amelie refuses to get upset for a guy who'll eat borscht all his life in a hat like a tea cozy.

Le Fabuleux Destin d'Amélie Poulain

Rock of ages, cleft for me
Hide me now, my refuge be
Let the water and the blood
From Your wounded side which flowed
Be for sin the double cure
Cleanse me from its guilt and power

Not the labours of my hands
Can fulfil Your law's demands
Could my zeal for respite know
Could my tears forever flow
All for sin could not atone
You must save, and You alone

Nothing in my hand I bring
Simply to Your cross I cling
Naked, come to You for dress
Helpless, look to You for grace
Stained by sin, to You I cry
Wash me Saviour, or I die

While I draw this fleeting breath
When my eyelids close in death
When I soar through realms unknown
Bow before Your judgment throne
Hide me then, my refuge be
Rock of ages, cleft for me

Sit down, and fire away. I know it's tricky when you're feeling low,
when you feel like your flavour has gone
the way of a pre-shelled pistachio.
I know you're weighed down, fed up with your heavy boots
laced with melancholy notions all your own.

I do- like sugar- tend toward the brittle and sticky when spun
and I know my demeanour has gone
the way of a photo left out in the sun,
so I try to keep myself in lilies and flax seeds
and what a folly, fooling just yourself.

Sit down and smoke away, I wouldn't knock it til you're in them shoes,
and I know that our subtlety blows away as a blush it gives way to a bruise,
but seemly we'd freely pay the trade off,
a dry rot to take the weight off
and swap the boots for red shoes.

- Lisa Hannigan

'She had a stare that stretched to infinity. She was, in that moment, not my mother but something separate from me. I looked at what I had never seen as anything but Mom and saw the soft powdery skin of her face- powdery without makeup- soft without help. Her eyebrows and eyes were a set-piece together. "Ocean Eyes", my father called her when he wanted one of her chocolate-covered cherries, which she kept hidden in the liquor cabinet as her private treat. And now I understood the name. I had thought it was because they were blue, but now I saw it was because they were bottomless in a way that I found frightening. I had an instinct then, not a developed thought, and it was that, before Holiday saw and smelled me, before the dewy mist hovering over the grass evaporated and the mother inside her woke as it did every morning, I should take a photograph with my new camera.

When the roll came back from the Kodak plant in a special heavy envelope, I could see the difference immediately. There was only one picture in which my mother was Abigail. It was that first one, the one taken of her unawares, the one captured before the click startled her into the mother of the birthday girl, owner of the happy dog, wife to the loving man, and mother again to another girl and a cherished boy. Homemaker. Gardener. Sunny neighbor. My mother's eyes were oceans, and inside them there was loss. I thought I had my whole life to understand them, but that was the only day I had. Once upon Earth I saw her as Abigail, and then I let it slip effortlessly back- my fascination held in check by wanting her to be that mother and envelop me as that mother.'

Alice Sebold, The Lovely Bones