Today we observe the birthday of Martin Luther King Jr. (who was actually born on the 15th). It also happens to be the birthday of A. A. Milne, the author of the much beloved childrens classic Winnie the Pooh. What follows is a collection of quotes, images, and a video from the amazing gospel singer Mahalia Jackson.
Peace Memorial - Martin Luther King Jr Park
The time is always right to do what is right. - Martin Luther King, Jr.
“Promise me you'll always remember: You're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. Christopher Robin to Pooh” - A.A Milne
Change does not roll in on the wheels of inevitability, but comes through continuous struggle. And so we must straighten our backs and work for our freedom. A man can't ride you unless your back is bent. - Martin Luther King, Jr.
Change does not roll in on the wheels of inevitability, but comes through continuous struggle. And so we must straighten our backs and work for our freedom. A man can't ride you unless your back is bent. - Martin Luther King, Jr.
| 'Supposing a tree fell down, Pooh, when we were underneath it?' 'Supposing it didn't,' said Pooh. After careful thought Piglet was comforted by this.” - A. A. Milne We must build dikes of courage to hold back the flood of fear. - Martin Luther King Jr | |
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Ps: My blog formatting is really acting wacky so I apologize for any ugly disunity in font and size and spacing. Times when I wish I knew HTML....
4 comments:
I so enjoyed this post! Though, the pics didn't come through for me. I love you and miss you sooo.
Hi Leigh! I don't know what is going on with this post. I am going to work on fixing the images because they are ones I really like. I wish you could come over for coffee and sit on the porch swing with me. :) Miss you!
A NOTE TO MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR. REGARDING THE USE OF CERTAIN TRANSITIVE AND INTRANSITIVE VERBS
Sir, when I came home quoting nearly every line
of that lambent speech, played on Mrs. Dowell’s beat-up
tape recorder during afternoons the autumn of my thirteenth
year, my father explained to me your (a new word)
infidelities. Here, in the capital of Texas, on this grand
old campus, your academic robe billows in cast iron
to spite the old aspersion, the features of your face speak
as much as, against your immobile head,
the pearl-clouded sky. I am a girl from the hills, white as bone,
and if I am honest I’ll admit the one snatch of that pavid set
of junior-high courses I still recall: With this faith we will be able
to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. Is it true
more American streets are named after you than any other
figure in our tricky history? Which is what reminds me,
your literal figure on my walk to school each day,
past the four-story LBJ museum and the towering
music hall, past the fountain which sprays so much so high
that its water, upon return, hits the walk like a body, past
folks who send frisbees soaring into October, to, finally,
you, quiet monolith—I didn’t care that day if you’d made
babies with women besides your wife. I’m older
now, Dr. King, can recognize the way I cleave, I hew: you
are not my father, whom I love, the mountain I yen
to carve myself out of into a hard, dark pebble of dream.
(George Steiner says the only real way to respond to art is with art, so here's an attempt from some time ago which can be my humble response to what you've posted here. The lines are off--ye olde formatting issues--but you get the idea. Many thanks for the post!)
Thanks for sharing this Susanna, wonderful!
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