Words To Live By

''I have walked that long road to freedom. I have tried not to falter;
 I have made missteps along the way.
But I have discovered the secret that after climbing a great hill,
one only finds that there are many more hills to climb.
I have taken a moment here to rest,to steal a view of gloious vista that surrounds me,
to look back on the distance i have come.
But i can rest only for a moment,
for wish freedom comes responsibilities,
and I dare not linger,for my long walk is not yet ended.''

I am the master of my fate..
I am the captain of my soul.

A SHORT STORY......👌👌

Knowing that Mrs. Mallard was afflicted with a heart trouble, great care was taken to break to her as gently as possible the news of her husband's death.

     It was her sister Josephine who told her, in broken sentences; veiled hints that revealed in half concealing. Her husband's friend Richards was there, too, near her. It was he who had been in the newspaper office when intelligence of the railroad disaster was received, with Brently Mallard's name leading the list of "killed." He had only taken the time to assure himself of its truth by a second telegram, and had hastened to forestall any less careful, less tender friend in bearing the sad message.

     She did not hear the story as many women have heard the same, with a paralyzed inability to accept its significance. She wept at once, with sudden, wild abandonment, in her sister's arms. When the storm of grief had spent itself she went away to her room alone. She would have no one follow her.

     There stood, facing the open window, a comfortable, roomy armchair. Into this she sank, pressed down by a physical exhaustion that haunted her body and seemed to reach into her soul.

     She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the street below a peddler was crying his wares. The notes of a distant song which some one was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves.

     There were patches of blue sky showing here and there through the clouds that had met and piled one above the other in the west facing her window.

     She sat with her head thrown back upon the cushion of the chair, quite motionless, except when a sob came up into her throat and shook her, as a child who has cried itself to sleep continues to sob in its dreams.

<  2  >

She was young, with a fair, calm face, whose lines bespoke repression and even a certain strength. But now there was a dull stare in her eyes, whose gaze was fixed away off yonder on one of those patches of blue sky. It was not a glance of reflection, but rather indicated a suspension of intelligent thought.

     There was something coming to her and she was waiting for it, fearfully. What was it? She did not know; it was too subtle and elusive to name. But she felt it, creeping out of the sky, reaching toward her through the sounds, the scents, the color that filled the air.

     Now her bosom rose and fell tumultuously. She was beginning to recognize this thing that was approaching to possess her, and she was striving to beat it back with her will - as powerless as her two white slender hands would have been.

     When she abandoned herself a little whispered word escaped her slightly parted lips. She said it over and over under her breath: "free, free, free!" The vacant stare and the look of terror that had followed it went from her eyes. They stayed keen and bright. Her pulses beat fast, and the coursing blood warmed and relaxed every inch of her body.

     She did not stop to ask if it were or were not a monstrous joy that held her. A clear and exalted perception enabled her to dismiss the suggestion as trivial.

     She knew that she would weep again when she saw the kind, tender hands folded in death; the face that had never looked save with love upon her, fixed and gray and dead. But she saw beyond that bitter moment a long procession of years to come that would belong to her absolutely. And she opened and spread her arms out to them in welcome.

     There would be no one to live for during those coming years; she would live for herself. There would be no powerful will bending hers in that blind persistence with which men and women believe they have a right to impose a private will upon a fellow-creature. A kind intention or a cruel intention made the act seem no less a crime as she looked upon it in that brief moment of illumination.

<  3  >

     And yet she had loved him - sometimes. Often she had not. What did it matter! What could love, the unsolved mystery, count for in face of this possession of self-assertion which she suddenly recognized as the strongest impulse of her being!

     "Free! Body and soul free!" she kept whispering.

     Josephine was kneeling before the closed door with her lips to the keyhole, imploring for admission. "Louise, open the door! I beg, open the door - you will make yourself ill. What are you doing Louise? For heaven's sake open the door."

     "Go away. I am not making myself ill." No; she was drinking in a very elixir of life through that open window.

     Her fancy was running riot along those days ahead of her. Spring days, and summer days, and all sorts of days that would be her own. She breathed a quick prayer that life might be long. It was only yesterday she had thought with a shudder that life might be long.

     She arose at length and opened the door to her sister's importunities. There was a feverish triumph in her eyes, and she carried herself unwittingly like a goddess of Victory. She clasped her sister's waist, and together they descended the stairs. Richards stood waiting for them at the bottom.

     Some one was opening the front door with a latchkey. It was Brently Mallard who entered, a little travel-stained, composedly carrying his grip-sack and umbrella. He had been far from the scene of accident, and did not even know there had been one. He stood amazed at Josephine's piercing cry; at Richards' quick motion to screen him from the view of his wife.

     But Richards was too late.

     When the doctors came they said she had died of heart disease - of joy that kills.

DREAMS..

If u don't study u gonna loose n b a booze
If u r not literate how u gonna rule
A piece of paper becomes the result of ur future
Wat if the sapling ruptures
No1 tells y Shud one study it alwz ends up  wth wat if u don't study...
A painter turned to b an iitian  coz father ws failed to commit his excellence..
The girl at night locked her room n danced to her favorite tunes, next morning had to stitch  a wound...
His interest ws to hit goals with a football but now he signs as the manager of the tall...
She joined pieces of clothes to mk a dress now she broom's the room of her husband for the bond she shared...
"Dream "ppl say but nvr told u can't live them the way u declare..
He ws the best actor at schul, still acts well to the audience of his own classroom as a teacher to schul...
She had a wish to b a chef of her kitchen,nothing has changed shez the best cook to her children..
Win glory to the family gt a name to thm, whr to find the name of own to spell...
Thy say u the hope to their dreams,  the hope of our own dreams lies in btwn...
Alas!! Painter,dancer, chef, actor still can't win the war from iitians,teachers, civil servants in the world tat matters...

http://sh.st/5qAFx

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Ae dil Hai Mushkil Review

STORY: Ayan falls in love with his soulmate, Alizeh, but she doesn’t reciprocate the feeling. Later, a relationship with Saba helps him realize Alizeh’s value in his life, irrespective of their relationship status. 

REVIEW: There’s a lot of good news, and only a little bad news, so let’s start with the former. With  Ae Dil Hai Mushkil, Karan Johar has let go of the “candy” but retained the “floss”, resulting in a beautiful-looking film that isn’t bereft of logic.
Ayan (Ranbir) and Alizeh (Anushka) strike up a friendship after meeting at a bar. They’re Bollywood-crazy goofballs who sing cheesy ’80s songs, poke fun at each other’s partners and fit into each other like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. But Ayan wants more from the relationship. 

Alizeh on the other hand is still reeling from her break-up with Ali (Fawad) and a chance encounter makes her slip back into his arms, leaving Ayan distraught. Ayan then finds solace in a (mostly physical) relationship with Saba (Aishwarya), who helps him get a new perspective on one-sided love. 

This is Karan Johar’s most grown-up movie yet. He has come a long way from “Pyaar dosti hai,” (Kuch Kuch Hota Hai) to “Pyaar mein junoon hai, par dosti mein sukoon hai” (ADHM). In the first half, there’s a getting-to-know-each-other arc which reminds you of Before Sunrise; there's also a slight Imtiaz Ali flavour lingering through the movie (strong female characters help a broken boy find himself). There’s no celebration of heartbreak; there’s no pausing-for-laughs, there are no convenient coincidences. 

The laughter comes from genuine chemistry between the leads. The sadness comes from real consequences of heartbreak that Johar has always shied away from, but not this time. Karan, the writer, overpowers Karan, the director here. 

Anushka Sharma plays the most well-rounded character with abandon; she's remarkable. Ranbir's portrayal of the clumsy, turned-down one-sided lover is heartbreaking; his honesty comes through yet again. Seeing Aishwarya in the role of a confident seductress is a welcome change. 

On the downside, there’s a bizarre twist in the last 15 minutes that could have been replaced with a scene or two of good conversation, but if you have an appetite for melodrama, you might just like it. 

That said, you usually come away from a Karan Johar movie dreaming of singing sweet tunes in the Alps; but ADHM makes you realize just how cold it is, up there. Go watch it for a relatable portrayal of modern-day relationships.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z_PODraXg4E