The explorer who will not come back or send back his ships to tell his tale is not an explorer, only an adventurer; and his sons are born in exile.

The explorer who will not come back or send back his ships to tell his tale is not an explorer, only an adventurer; and his sons are born in exile.
The king was pregnant.
The story is not in the plot but in the telling.
Disneytober 2026~ 💜
Día 10: Ursula mezclando pociones en su caldero.
Sinceramente no me acordaba de ese caldero... 🙃
#disneytober2026 #ursula #thelittlemermaid #art #traditionalart #artchallenge #october2026
Without war there are no heroes."
"What harm would that be?"
"Oh, Lavinia, what a woman's question that is.
The trouble is, women have to be absolutely first class to get where third-class men get.
Children know perfectly well that unicorns aren't real, but they also know that books about unicorns, if they are good books, are true books.
The trouble is, women have to be absolutely first class to get where third-class men get.
Death and life are the same thing-like the two sides of my hand, the palm and the back. And still the palm and the back are not the same...They can be neither separated, nor mixed.
The explorer who will not come back or send back his ships to tell his tale is not an explorer, only an adventurer; and his sons are born in exile.
How do I know," she said at last, "that you are what you seem to be?"
"You don't," Said he. "I don't know what I seem, to you.
If your strength is only the other's weakness, you live in fear,
I always grow poetic when I am lying to myself.
Nobody who says, 'I told you so' has ever been, or will ever be, a hero.
Where does your soul go, when you die in Hell?
The truth is that as a man's real power grows and his knowledge widens, ever the way he can follow grows narrower: until at last he chooses nothing but does only and wholly what he must do.
Love doesn't just sit there, like a stone, it has to be made, like bread; re-made all the time, made new. When it was made, they lay in each other's arms, holding love, asleep.
This is the treason of the artist: a refusal to admit the banality of evil and the terrible boredom of pain.
I certainly wasn't happy. Happiness has to do with reason, and only reason earns it. What I was given was the thing you can't earn, and can't keep, and often don't even recognize at the time; I mean joy.
You have to help another person. But it's not right to play God with masses of people. To be God you have to know what you're doing. And to do any good at all, just believing you're right and your motives are good isn't enough.