Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Cæsar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them, The good is oft interred with their bones; So let it be with Cæsar. The noble Brutus Hath told Cæsar was ambitious; If it were so, it was a grievous fault; And grievously hath Cæsar answer'd it. . . . . For Brutus is an honourable man; So are they all, all honourable men. . . . . He was my friend, faithful and just to me: But Brutus says he was ambitious; And Brutus is an honourable man. . . . . When that the poor have cried, Cæsar hath wept; Ambition should be made of sterner stuff . . . . You all did love him once, not without cause.
April O fair mid-spring, besung so oft and oft, How can I praise thy loveliness enow? Thy sun that burns not, and thy breezes soft That o'er the blossoms of the orchard blow, The thousand things that 'neath the young leaves grow, The hopes and chances of the growing year, Winter forgotten long, and summer near. When summer brings the lily and the rose, She brings us fear-her very death she brings Hid in her anxious heart, the forge of woes; And, dull with fear, no more the mavis sings. But thou! thou diest not, but thy fresh life clings About the fainting autumn's sweet decay, When in the earth the hopeful seed they lay. Ah! life of all the year, why yet do I, Amid thy snowy blossoms' fragrant drift, Still long for that which never draweth nigh, Striving my pleasure from my pain to sift, Some weight from off my fluttering mirth to lift? - Now, when far bells are ringing "Come again, Come back, past years! why will ye pass in vain?"
They did not use swords, or keep slaves. They were not barbarians. I do not know the rules and laws of their society, but I suspect that they were singularly few. As they did without monarchy and slavery, so they also got on without the stock exchange, the advertisement, the secret police, and the bomb. Yet I repeat that these were not simple folk, not dulcet shepherds, noble savages, bland utopians. They were not less complex than us. The trouble is that we have a bad habit, encouraged by pedants and sophisticates, of considering happiness as something rather stupid. Only pain is intellectual, only evil interesting. This is the treason of the artist: a refusal to admit the banality of evil and the terrible boredom of pain. If you can't lick 'em, join 'em. If it hurts, repeat it. But to praise despair is to condemn delight, to embrace violence is to lose hold of everything else. We have almost lost hold, we can no longer describe a happy man, nor make any celebration of joy. How can I tell you about the people of Omelas? They were not naive and happy children - though their children were, in fact happy. They were mature, intelligent, passionate adults whose lives were not wretched
I use to have a "Comfort Zone" Where I knew I couldn't fail, The same four walls and busy work, were really more like jail. I longed so much to do the things I'd never done before, But I stayed inside my "Comfort Zone" and paced the same old floor. I said it didn't matter that I wasn't doing much. I said I didn't care for things like diamonds, furs and such. I claimed to be so busy with the things inside the Zone. But deep inside I longed for something "special" of my own. I couldn't let my life go by just watching others win! I held my breath and stepped outside to let the change begin!! I took a step and with new strength I'd never felt before. I kissed my "Comfort Zone" good-bye and closed and locked the door! If you are in a "Comfort Zone" afraid to venture out. Remember that all winners were at one time filled with doubt. A step or two and words of praise can make your dreams come true. Greet your future with a smile, Success is there for you!!!