There is no competition to be a perfect human being!



The New World (Natun Prithibi)
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There’s a stake in your fat black heart  And the villagers never liked you. They are dancing and stamping on you.  They always knew it was you. Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I’m through.

In marriage there are no manners to keep up, and beneath the wildest accusations no real criticism. Each is familiar with that ancient child in the other who may erupt again. We are not ridiculous to ourselves. We are ageless. That is the luxury of the wedding ring.

Written By Enid Bagnold

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