Bury Me Beneath The Weeping Willow - Songs of the Carter Family

 

Life is a process...

 

“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.

Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through. Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. This is a kind of death.

Living never wore one out so much as the effort not to live.

Life is truly known only to those who suffer, lose, endure adversity and stumble from defeat to defeat.

Perfection is static, and I am in full progress.

Abnormal pleasures kill the taste for normal ones.

-Anais Nin

"Dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return." -Bible-Genesis 3:19

"While I thought that I was learning to live, I have been learning how to die" - Leonardo da Vinci”

― anais nin

Source: https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/

ai art by me

I Meant to Do My Work Today

 

I Meant to Do My Work TodaybyRichard Le Gallienne
I meant to do my work today—   But a brown bird sang in the apple tree,And a butterfly flitted across the field,   And all the leaves were calling me. 
And the wind went sighing over the land,   Tossing the grasses to and fro,And a rainbow held out its shining hand—   So what could I do but laugh and go?
Source: https://www.yourdailypoem.com/

.

Lyrics

I meant to do my work today
But a brown bird sang in the apple tree
I know that one too
And a buttefly flitted across the field

And all the leaves were calling me
And the buttercups nodded their smiling heads
Greeting the bees who came to call
And I asked the lizard the time of day

As he sunned himself on a moss grove
And the wind went sighing over the land
Tossing the grasses to and from
And a rainbow held out its shining hand

So what could I do but laugh and go
My mother died when I was born
I live with my father on our own
And we had a cottage where we'd go
And he died too, now I'm alone

Source: Musixmatch

Songwriters: Elton John / Bernie Taupin

And in the morning...

And in the morning they shook their pillows violently, hoping all the dreams they lost that night would tumble out.

-Joseph Gordon-Levitt

Source: Poetry & all my emotions on Facebook

It Looks Like Rain

Sometimes in life, there are situations that leave us lost for words. Times when we don’t know how to respond and don’t know what to say to others.

Times when we’re scared to acknowledge the obvious because we don’t want to upset people.

And yet...

Our grief is never lessened because someone pretends that it isn’t there.

Our sadness never ups and leaves because someone skirts around it.

And our worry does not dissipate because someone acts as if it’s invisible.

And whilst there is something to be said for perspective and distraction,

there is also something to be said for someone holding your hand and saying “I’m sorry this is happening. It’s ok if you need to cry.”

Sometimes we just need someone to acknowledge what we’re feeling.

Otherwise it’s like seeing a huge, grey cloud overhead and everyone saying, “look how blue the sky is!”

It doesn’t make us feel better. It actually makes us feel like we have to hide. Like we have to ignore what we feel. Like we have to pretend.

There is no point in pretending the sky is always blue because in reality, sometimes it is grey. Sometimes the clouds fill with rain until they simply can’t contain it anymore.

And no one pretends they’re not heavy. No one avoids telling them they’re grey. Because it would be futile.

Instead, we look up at the sky and we say, “it looks like rain”.

Because acknowledging the rain doesn’t make it worse. It actually makes us better equipped for it. It actually means that, instead of drowning, we put on our coats, and we prepare for the downpour.

And we listen to the rain.

But we do it together.

Under the same umbrella.

*****

Becky Hemsley 2024

Artwork by Brigitte Stemer

'It Looks Like Rain' is a poem from Words to Remember 

Source: Becky Hemsley Poetry on Facebook

to wander

 

"There are days when I don't feel sociable,
I'm just happy on my own,
to wander through my thoughts and dreams
In the quiet, I've found I've grown.
As much as I like the laughter shared,
The chatter and the cheer,
I find a deep peace in solitude,
Where my world feels more clear.
I chase the sun, I read my books,
I sew and write and play,
With every moment spent alone,
I find a brighter way.
So here's to solitary time spent
doing the things that inspire me
For sometimes in the stillness,
I discover who I'm meant to be..."
Author unknown, credit to Serendipity Corner pg
Artist unknown via Pinterest

Source: A Friend on Facebook

It is a new day

"They say beauty comes from a 

spirit that has weathered many 

hardships in life and somehow 

continues with resilience. 

Grace can be found in a soul 

who ages softly, even amid 

the tempest. 

I think the loveliest by far is the one 

whose gentle heart bears a hundred scars 

from caring, yet still finds a way to pick up 

the lamp, one more time, to light the way 

for love." 

Susan Frybort 

Martin Piwowarski Illustrations 

Source: Bring Side on Facebook

Will The Circle Be Unbroken - The NGDB

 

Pink Floyd - " TIME "

 

PINK FLOYD - A Pillow Of Winds - Meddle

 

Magnify

 

Source: Donna Ashworth on Facebook

Your mother is always with you.

They moved the headstone they put on moms feet. The top of her stone is still a little lower, but I'm glad they moved the other stone!

Was looking at Facebook memories and I shared some good ones around mothers day over the years. I thought I'd save them here. Enjoy!

Your mother is always with you. She’s the whisper of the leaves as you walk down the street. She’s the smell of certain foods you remember, flowers you pick, the fragrance of life itself. She’s the cool hand on your brow when you’re not feeling well. She’s your breath in the air on a cold winter’s day. She is the sound of the rain that lulls you to sleep, the colors of a rainbow; she is Christmas morning. Your mother lives inside your laughter. She’s the place you came from, your first home, and she’s the map you follow with every step you take. She’s your first love, your first friend, even your first enemy, but nothing on earth can separate you, not time, not space...not even death.

~ Author Unknown

Life is a fragile chain of experiences held together by love.

...the leaving of a pebble on a headstone in the cemetary is a way to errect a small, new tomb-stone to honour the memory of the dead. The pebble also lets others know that someone did come and remember. Symbolically, it suggests the continuing presence of love and memory which are as strong and enduring as a rock. It's a Jewish tradition, but you don't have to be Jewish to leave a stone.

Journey Within

 

In the silent chamber of my heart,
Stories of past, a work of art.
Each year a brushstroke, bold and true,
Painting the essence of the evolving you.

Whispers of joys, cries of pain,
Rainbows after every rain.
Embracing flaws, cherishing the glow,
With every birthday, I come to know.

Deeper I dive into my core,
Discovering facets never seen before.
Another year, another layer unfolds,
In the heart’s diary, life’s tales retold.

By Maya Anthony

ai art by me

Happy Birthday to Me!

Isolate

Isolate as much as you want to become stronger,

even if you see that loneliness is an unbearable hell,

it is much better than the multiple masks of humans.

Fyodor Dostoevsky

ai art by me

Gather Up

 

"I shall
Gather up
All the lost souls
That wander this earth
All the ones that are alone
All the ones that are broken
All the ones that never really fitted in
I shall gather them all up
And together we shall find our home."

“Gather up” by Athey Thompson,
from A Little Book Of Poetry
Photograph taken from “Through the
back door,” by J. Pickford and A. Green

Source: Tales of the old forest faeries on Facebook

Prayer Bells Of Heaven ~ Jimmy Martin

 

There is no better day.

 

Go where the love is...

 

Go where the love is...

Comparison is a thief of joy.

 

"You can seem like a millionaire to one person and a homeless soul to the next. The ants think you're a giant and the trees don't even notice you. You think you have a boring life but the next person might be striving for your lifestyle.

Comparison is a thief of joy.

Stay kind in all circumstances and keep loving life. Life is a big game of perspectives."

Writer unknown

Artist | Kathleen S. Giles, "A Sustaining Passion"

Source: A Friend on Facebook

The Butterfly

 

“Trade me a memory,” the butterfly said

“A memory that’s heavy and harsh,

And I’ll sit and I’ll listen and try my sweet best

To lighten the load on your heart”

So he told her of struggles, of heartache and pain

And he cried as he spoke them aloud

For it wasn’t one memory but lots of the same

That were, all of them, weighing him down

He spoke of a place filled with darkness and fear,

A tunnel devoid of all hope

And the spots on her wings deftly captured his tears

Then softly and gently she spoke

“Thanks for the memories,” the butterfly said

Then she gave him a butterfly kiss

And she took a deep breath as she wistfully sighed

And then traded her memory for his

“I’ve always been me but not always like this

There was once when I thought I had died

I was shrouded in darkness ‘til I grew my wings

See,

I needed that darkness to fly”

********

This week marks the beginning of mental health week, and the theme this year is 'action'. Remember that talking to someone can often help us find a little light in the darkness.

Becky Hemsley 2021

Artwork by Anna Fila

'The Butterfly' is from Becky Hemsley's first collection

Source: Becky Hemsley Poetry on Facebook

Survivor

A teenager tried buying my dented, rusted metal lunchbox for its "vintage industrial aesthetic." But when I opened it and showed her the five polaroids inside, she immediately burst into tears.

"Just mark the whole table as a dollar, Mom. I want this stuff gone by noon," my daughter, Karen, shouted across the front lawn.

She was aggressively slapping neon garage-sale stickers onto seventy-five years of my life. I was only sitting in this folding chair because Karen had decided my house was too big and an assisted living apartment was more "practical."

When your knees start giving out and your hands shake, you learn to stop fighting. You just watch your history get liquidated.

I wanted to escape the chaos, but I was rooted to my spot. I watched strangers paw through my kitchenware and old sweaters. The air smelled of damp grass and the quiet indignity of getting old.

Then, I saw it.

Sitting between a pile of cheap paperback novels and a tarnished lamp. My old metal lunchbox.

It was fade blue, scratched to hell, and heavily dented on the right side. The latch was still bent from the night I had to force it open with a frozen screwdriver.

My chest tightened. That box wasn't supposed to be out here.

Before I could push myself up from my chair, a hand reached out and grabbed it.

"Oh my gosh, this is absolutely perfect."

I looked up. The voice belonged to a young girl, maybe sixteen. She had bright purple hair, ripped black jeans, and a glowing smartphone permanently attached to her palm.

"Hey, how much for this?" she asked Karen, holding the lunchbox up to the sunlight. "The industrial aesthetic is amazing. People online go crazy for authentic damage like this."

"A dollar," Karen said without even looking up from her clipboard.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I grabbed my cane and forced myself to stand.

"It’s not for sale," I croaked. My voice was weaker than I wanted it to be.

The teenager turned to look at me. She lowered her phone. She didn't look malicious, just moving at the high-speed velocity of youth. Everything is fast for them. Fast fashion, fast videos, fast assumptions.

"Really? The sticker says a dollar," she pointed out, though her tone softened when she saw me leaning heavily on my cane.

I shuffled closer. My hands trembled as I reached out. "May I?"

She hesitated, then gently handed it back to me. The metal was warm from the morning sun, but the moment my fingers brushed the deep dent on the side, I felt the freezing cold.

I wasn't an old, fragile woman anymore. I was thirty-four. I was gripping the oversized steering wheel of a yellow school bus, staring into a blinding curtain of white snow.

"You see this dent?" I asked the girl. My voice was suddenly very steady.

She nodded, her eyes drifting from the lunchbox to my face.

"I put that dent there in January of 1982," I told her. "I was a school bus driver. The blizzard hit out of nowhere. We slid off the county road and down into a ravine. The snow drifted so fast it buried the exhaust pipe and half the windows."

The teenager's phone slipped down to her side. The screen went dark.

"The radio went dead," I continued, tracing the rusted edge. "The heater died an hour later. The temperature outside was twenty below zero. I had five elementary school kids left on my route. They were terrified. They were crying."

The chaotic noise of the yard sale seemed to vanish. Karen had stopped organizing the table. She was watching us.

I popped the bent latch. The hinges shrieked.

I reached inside and pulled out a small stack of faded, slightly water-damaged Polaroid photos. I handed them to the girl.

She looked down. Her breath caught.

There were five faces. Little kids bundled in oversized coats, their cheeks red from the cold, smiling nervously at the camera.

"I kept them awake for fourteen hours," I whispered. "I used this metal lunchbox to smash the emergency hatch open just enough to let fresh air in so we wouldn't suffocate. We burned our math homework in this box to keep our hands from getting frostbite."

The girl stared at the photos. Her thumb gently brushed over the image of a little boy missing his two front teeth.

"We played games. We sang songs. And when the snowplows finally dug us out the next morning... all five of them walked off that bus alive." I swallowed hard. "I took those pictures the day they came back to school."

The teenager looked up. Tears were silently pooling in her eyes, spilling over her dark eyeliner. The "cool, vintage aesthetic" had suddenly become incredibly heavy.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I didn't know. I thought it was just... junk."

She quickly held the lunchbox out to me. "Please. You have to keep it. I shouldn't have touched it."

I looked at the rusted blue metal. If I kept it, what would happen to it? It would go into a cardboard box. It would sit on a shelf in a sterile assisted living room. And when I passed away, Karen would probably toss it into a dumpster.

Stories only survive if they are told. History dies when you hide it in the dark.

I gently pushed her hands back toward her chest. "No."

The girl blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I’ve carried the memories of that night for forty years," I smiled, feeling a strange sense of peace wash over me. "I'm tired. It's time for this box to go somewhere new."

"I can't," she shook her head, a tear slipping down her cheek. "It's too important."

"I want you to have it," I insisted, looking her dead in the eye. "But on one condition."

She stood up a little straighter. "Anything."

"When you take pictures of it for your friends on the internet, and when they ask you where you got such a cool, vintage item..." I paused, tapping my finger against the rusted lid. "You don't tell them you bought it at a yard sale for a dollar."

She watched me, hanging on every word.

"You show them those faces. You tell them about the little boy with the missing teeth who became a firefighter. You tell them about the little girl in the pink hat who now teaches kindergarten. You tell them that regular, everyday people can survive impossible storms."

The purple-haired teenager didn't look at her phone. She didn't look at my daughter. She looked right at me, seeing me not as a burden in a folding chair, but as a survivor.

"I promise," she said softly. And I knew she meant it.

She carefully placed the photos back inside, closed the bent latch with reverence, and walked away. I watched a piece of my history leave my driveway, knowing it was finally going to live again.

As I sat back down, I noticed a box of old vinyl records next to me. A dollar each. Music that once made people fall in love, now just clearance items on a folding table.

We all end up on the clearance rack eventually. Our youth fades. Our grand adventures turn into old anecdotes that the younger generation feels too busy to hear.

But here is my plea to you.

The next time you see a frail woman taking too long to cross the street, or an old man sitting alone at a diner staring into his coffee cup... don't look past them.

We are not just obstacles in your fast-paced life. We are walking libraries. We survived blizzards, wars, heartbreaks, and history. We are holding onto names and faces that no one else remembers.

Say hello. Give us ten seconds of your busy, buzzing, high-speed life.

Because one day, a teenager will be holding your most prized possession, calling it "vintage." And you will pray to God that someone, somewhere, still believes your story is worth telling.

Check Stories You Haven’t Read But Will Never Forget for more!

Source: Pondering Valley on Facebook

Sticks and Stones

 

Sticks and stones may break my bones

But words will cut me deep

They’ll keep on hurting long after

The breaks and bruises heal

Because the sticks will meet my skin,

The stones may hit my bones

But words will carve their way beneath

And make my soul their home

And this gives them the power

To control me and to win

‘Cause now I’ve words of worthlessness

From outside and within

See stones are thrown in anger

But our words are thrown in spite

And whilst they’re easier to pitch

They’re more difficult to fight

Because we cannot run away,

We cannot just unhear them,

Because their echoes resonate

Long after we are near them

And if we are not careful

Then those words become our voice

One that learns to shout the loudest

And to make the biggest noise

So do not be the reason

Someone hates their own reflection

Or thinks they are not worthy

Or deserving of affection

And when you pick your words

Weigh them awhile between your palms

Consider whether hurling them

Will heal or hurt or harm

Yes, sticks and stones may break a bone

But words can break a heart

And they can be the reason

Someone tears themself apart

So if you wouldn’t break their bones

By throwing stones and sticks

It’s likely for the best

That some words do not leave your lips

******

Becky Hemsley 2022

Artwork by Femke Muntz

'Sticks and Stones' is from her second collection

Source: Becky Hemsley Poetry on Facebook

Uncloudy Day Ralph Stanley

 

I am an old soul.

 

I am an old soul.

I love genuine kindness.

I love compassion.

I love poetry.

I love soul connection.

I love old books.

I love deep conversations.

I love depth. I love genuinity.

There is something timeless about the things that truly nourish my soul. I am drawn to kindness that asks for nothing in return, to compassion that heals without expectation.

I find beauty in poetry that speaks to the unspoken, in old books that carry the weight of countless hands and untold stories.

I crave soul connections—those rare, unguarded moments when hearts recognize each other beyond words.

Surface-level exchanges do not satisfy me; I long for deep conversations, for thoughts that stretch beyond the ordinary, for emotions that are raw and real.

In a world that often prioritizes the fleeting, I seek what endures. I am an old soul, and I find my home in authenticity, in depth, in genuineness that asks for nothing but truth.

Pinterest

Source: Divine Souls on Facebook

Letting Go

 

Source: Poetry for the Soul on Facebook

PINK FLOYD - A Pillow Of Winds - Meddle

 

A Pillow of Winds

A cloud of eiderdown draws around me
Softening the sound
Sleepy time when I lie with my love by my side
And she's breathing low
And the candle dies

When night comes down, you lock the door
The book falls to the floor

As darkness falls and waves roll by
The seasons change, the wind is warm

Now wakes the owl, now sleeps the swan
Behold a dream, the dream is gone

Green fields, a cold rain is falling in a golden dawn

And deep beneath the ground
The early morning sounds and I go down

Sleepy time when I lie with my love by my side
And she's breathing low
And I rise like a bird in the haze
When the first rays touch the sky
And the night wings die

If God Didn't Say It...

 

Some of you didn’t just hear a lie…

you agreed with it.

You’ve been calling yourself

what God never called you.

Rejected.

Too much.

Not enough.

Unworthy.

And now you’re carrying it like it’s truth.

But it’s not.

God doesn’t contradict Himself.

And His Word is clear about you.

1 Peter 2:9

“You are a chosen people…”

So if what you’re believing

doesn’t line up with what He said…

it’s not your identity.

It’s something you need to tear down.

2 Corinthians 10:5

“Take every thought captive…”

Not every thought is yours to keep.

Source: Coffee with Starla on Facebook

Carol Kaye

She played the bassline on the most-played song of the 20th century. Her name wasn't on the record.

The 1966 album cover shows five young men on a California beach. The woman who actually played bass on half the tracks is nowhere in the photograph.

This wasn't an accident. It was industrial policy.

The Illusion

You bought the record. You read the sleeve. You saw the band holding their instruments on television. You assumed they were playing what you heard.

That assumption built a billion-dollar industry.

The Beach Boys. The Monkees. Sonny and Cher. The Righteous Brothers.

The story we were sold was simple: talented teenagers walk into a studio, plug in, and magic happens. They press the vinyl. The songs hit radio. The band goes on tour.

That story is fiction.

The Factory

Los Angeles in the 1960s wasn't about art. It was about manufacturing.

Radio stations demanded constant rotation. Labels couldn't wait six months for a band to rehearse an album.

Behind soundproof studio doors, a rotating group of session players handled the instruments. They were called The Wrecking Crew.

They arrived at Western Recorders at 8 AM. They drank stale coffee from paper cups. They recorded three complete albums for three different artists before sunset.

At the center of this machine sat Carol Kaye — a thirty-something mother of three holding a Fender Precision bass.

From 1957 to 1973, she played on an estimated 10,000 recording sessions.

Being invisible wasn't unusual for her. It was Tuesday.

The Sound of Everything

When you hear Nancy Sinatra's "These Boots Are Made for Walkin'," you're hearing Carol Kaye's fingers.

The descending bassline on the Beach Boys' "Wouldn't It Be Nice"? Carol Kaye.

The acoustic guitar intro to "La Bamba"? Her.

Mission: Impossible theme? Her.

"You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin'" — the most-played song of the 20th century? Her bassline.

The records sold tens of millions of copies. They defined the decade.

Record companies paid her a flat union rate: $55 for three hours.

The erasure wasn't a conspiracy. It was standard operating procedure.

She grew up poor in Everett, Washington. Her parents were struggling musicians. At 14, she played jazz guitar in smoky clubs to keep the lights on at home.

She wasn't romantic about music. She viewed sessions as factory shifts.

If the producer wanted a specific sound, she delivered. Then she packed her gear and drove to the next studio.

The men in the session bands respected her because they had no choice.

She was faster. She corrected their chord charts with a pencil during takes.

She wasn't always polite. During a 1968 session, she told a famous producer his horn arrangement sounded like "a dying dog." She played it her way instead. They kept her version.

She carried her own amplifier. She wore practical cardigans. She chain-smoked through takes.

When she couldn't find childcare, she brought her kids to the studio. They sat quietly in the control room while their mother cut platinum records.

When "You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin'" hit number one, she was already recording jingles in a different building.

The Work

1964: Gold Star Studios. She recorded the bassline for "You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin'."

It became the most-played track of the 20th century.

Her name: not on the record.

She invented techniques out of necessity. When standard bass sounded too muddy for AM radio, she taped felt over the strings to dampen overtones. She used a hard pick on heavy flatwound strings.

The sound snapped. It cut through static. It became the sound of the decade.

Bass players spent years trying to figure out what equipment famous bands used to get that tone.

They were studying the wrong people.

The Beach Boys. Ray Charles. Frank Sinatra. Simon and Garfunkel. Stevie Wonder. The Supremes.

The faded sleeves still list the wrong names.

The needle drops. The bassline starts.

The woman playing it is still invisible on the cover.

Carol Kaye: the woman who played the soundtrack of a generation from behind soundproof glass while the world looked elsewhere.

Original source unknown.

Daphne du Maurier

 

Do you have a particular memory that this quote makes you think of?

If only there could be an invention that bottled up a memory, like scent. And it never faded, and it never got stale. And then, when one wanted it, the bottle could be uncorked, and it would be like living the moment all over again.

― Daphne du Maurier, Rebecca

That line from Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca really does linger, doesn’t it?

What makes it so powerful is how sensory it is—memory not as something abstract, but something you could hold, uncork, breathe in. She doesn’t just talk about remembering; she imagines reliving. That quiet longing in the quote taps into something almost universal: the wish to preserve moments exactly as they were, untouched by time or change.

And there’s a subtle melancholy tucked inside it too. If such a bottle existed, would we ever move forward? Or would we keep returning to the same perfect moments, like walking through a house we can never truly live in again?

It’s a beautiful paradox—wanting memory to stay vivid, while knowing its fading is part of what gives it meaning.

Daphne du Maurier frequently explored themes of time, memory, and the blending of past and present, notably in Rebecca and her personal writings. Famous quotes include reflections on time's inability to destroy memory and the concept of time as "all-dimensional". 

Here are key Daphne du Maurier quotes regarding time:

"Could time be all-dimensional – yesterday, today, tomorrow running concurrently in ceaseless repetition? Perhaps."

"Time could not wreck the perfect symmetry of those walls, nor the site itself, a jewel in the hollow of a hand." (From Rebecca)

"It was hopeless the way time did not stand still, not for a fraction of a second, that there was never an occasion when I could grasp..."

"Time will mellow it, make it a moment for laughter. But now it was not funny, now I did not laugh. It was not the future, it was the present. It was too vivid and too real." (From Rebecca)

"As an eavesdropper in time my role was passive, without commitment or responsibility."

"We are all ghosts of yesterday, and the phantom of tomorrow awaits us alike in sunshine or in shadow, dimly perceived at times, never entirely lost." (From Myself When Young) 

According to this collection on the Daphne du Maurier website, she also wrote about the rapid, fantastical shift of time: "I have seen the white sea-mists of early summer turn the hill to fantasy, so that it becomes, in a single second, a ghost land of enchantment..." (From The King's General).

and another of my favorites...

Time will mellow it, make it a moment for laughter. But now it was not funny, now I did not laugh. It was not the future, it was the present. It was too vivid and too real.

― Daphne du Maurier, Rebecca

Larry Fleet - Where I Find God

 

How lovely it was to be alone again.

 

I wondered why it was that places are so much lovelier when one is alone. How commonplace and stupid it would be if I had a friend now, sitting beside me, someone I had known at school, who would say: “By-the-way, I saw old Hilda the other day. You remember her, the one who was so good at tennis. She’s married, with two children.” And the bluebells beside us unnoticed, and the pigeons overhead unheard. I did not want anyone with me. Not even Maxim. If Maxim had been there I should not be lying as I was now, chewing a piece of grass, my eyes shut. I should have been watching him, watching his eyes, his expression. Wondering if he liked it, if he was bored. Wondering what he was thinking. Now I could relax, none of these things mattered. Maxim was in London. How lovely it was to be alone again.

― Daphne du Maurier, Rebecca

No matter how old...

 

No matter how old you are now. You are never too young or too old for success or going after what you want. Here’s a short list of people who accomplished great things at different ages 

1) Helen Keller, at the age of 19 months, became deaf and blind. But that didn’t stop her. She was the first deaf and blind person to earn a Bachelor of Arts degree.

2) Mozart was already competent on keyboard and violin; he composed from the age of 5.

3) Shirley Temple was 6 when she became a movie star on “Bright Eyes.”

4) Anne Frank was 12 when she wrote the diary of Anne Frank.

5) Magnus Carlsen became a chess Grandmaster at the age of 13.

6) Nadia Comăneci was a gymnast from Romania that scored seven perfect 10.0 and won three gold medals at the Olympics at age 14.

7) Tenzin Gyatso was formally recognized as the 14th Dalai Lama in November 1950, at the age of 15.

8) Pele, a soccer superstar, was 17 years old when he won the world cup in 1958 with Brazil.

9) Elvis was a superstar by age 19.

10) John Lennon was 20 years and Paul Mcartney was 18 when the Beatles had their first concert in 1961.

11) Jesse Owens was 22 when he won 4 gold medals in Berlin 1936.

12) Beethoven was a piano virtuoso by age 23

13) Issac Newton wrote Philosophiæ Naturalis Principia Mathematica at age 24

14) Roger Bannister was 25 when he broke the 4 minute mile record

15) Albert Einstein was 26 when he wrote the theory of relativity

16) Lance E. Armstrong was 27 when he won the tour de France

17) Michelangelo created two of the greatest sculptures “David” and “Pieta” by age 28

18) Alexander the Great, by age 29, had created one of the largest empires of the ancient world

19) J.K. Rowling was 30 years old when she finished the first manuscript of Harry Potter

20) Amelia Earhart was 31 years old when she became the first woman to fly solo across the Atlantic Ocean

21) Oprah was 32 when she started her talk show, which has become the highest-rated program of its kind

22) Edmund Hillary was 33 when he became the first man to reach Mount Everest

23) Martin Luther King Jr. was 34 when he wrote the speech “I Have a Dream."

24) Marie Curie was 35 years old when she got nominated for a Nobel Prize in Physics

25) The Wright brothers, Orville (32) and Wilbur (36) invented and built the world's first successful airplane and making the first controlled, powered and sustained heavier-than-air human flight

26) Vincent Van Gogh was 37 when he died virtually unknown, yet his paintings today are worth millions.

27) Neil Armstrong was 38 when he became the first man to set foot on the moon.

28) Mark Twain was 40 when he wrote "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer", and 49 years old when he wrote "Adventures of Huckleberry Finn"

29) Christopher Columbus was 41 when he discovered the Americas

30) Rosa Parks was 42 when she refused to obey the bus driver’s order to give up her seat to make room for a white passenger

31) John F. Kennedy was 43 years old when he became President of the United States

32) Henry Ford Was 45 when the Ford T came out.

33) Suzanne Collins was 46 when she wrote "The Hunger Games"

34) Charles Darwin was 50 years old when his book On the Origin of Species came out.

35) Leonardo Da Vinci was 51 years old when he painted the Mona Lisa.

36) Abraham Lincoln was 52 when he became president.

37) Ray Kroc Was 53 when he bought the McDonalds Franchise and took it to unprecedented levels.

38) Dr. Seuss was 54 when he wrote "The Cat in the Hat".

40) Chesley "Sully" Sullenberger III was 57 years old when he successfully ditched US Airways Flight 1549 in the Hudson River in 2009. All of the 155 passengers aboard the aircraft survived

41) Colonel Harland Sanders was 61 when he started the KFC Franchise

42) J.R.R Tolkien was 62 when the Lord of the Ring books came out

43) Ronald Reagan was 69 when he became President of the US

44) Jack Lalane at age 70 handcuffed, shackled, towed 70 rowboats

45) Nelson Mandela was 76 when he became President”

― Pablo

ai art by me