The art of writing is the art of discovering what you believe.
--Gustave Flaubert

I have always loved Calvin and Hobbes.

Suicide in the Trenches

I knew a simple soldier boy
who grinned at life in empty joy,
slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
and whistled early with the lark.

In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
with crumps and lice and lack of rum,
he put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.

You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
who cheer when soldier lads march by,
sneak home and pray you'll never know
the hell where youth and laughter go.

--Siegfried Sassoon

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I'm not one for strict rhyme schemes, but I've got chills after stumbling on this.

FOUND Magazine

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments; love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O, no, it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand'ring bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his heighth be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

Sonnet 116, my dear Shakespeare

“Some things, however, are true no matter how hard you might try to block them out, and a lie is always a lie, no matter how prettily told. Some doors, once they’re opened, can never be closed again, just as some trust, once it’s been lost, can never be won back.”
--Alice Hoffman

"So I wait for you like a lonely house
till you will see me again and live in me.
Till then my windows ache."

--Pablo Neruda
That beautiful, beautiful man.