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Monday Morning Memo

No: it is not yours to open buds into blossoms.
Shake the bud, strike it; it is beyond your power to make it blossom.
Your touch soils it, you tear its petals to pieces and strew them in the dust.
But no colours appear, and no perfume.

Ah! it is not for you to open the bud into a blossom.

He who can open the bud does it so simply.
He gives it a glance, and the life-sap stirs through its veins.
At his breath the flower spreads its wings and flutters in the wind.
Colours flush out like heart-longings, the perfume betrays a sweet secret.

He who can open the bud does it so simply.

– Rabindranath Tagore, winner of the Nobel Prize
Fruit-Gathering XVIII, New York: The Macmillan Company, 1916
[Translated from Bengali to English by the author]

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Random Quote:

“It describes me as encircled by an army of young men. I am encircled by an army of two young men—aged respectively twelve and fourteen [her children]. They draw themselves up in battalions and form themselves into hollow squares, and I am rather popular with them. …It is next stated that during my stay in New York I was known as the “Empress of Bohemia.” This sounds like a pleasant title, but a person Bohemia did not once see during my stay in New York is scarcely entitled to such a distinction. It announces that I wore Kate Greenaway dresses of vivid silk belted under the arms with wide sashes: I do not own such a costume, and I am also not mad.“

- Frances Hodgson Burnett, excerpted from an 1889 letter to the editor in which she complained of the “monument of fiction” contained in a recent news report about her. She was the author of Little Lord Fauntleroy, as well as The Secret Garden.

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