Time travels at different speeds for different people. I can tell you who time strolls for, who it trots for, who it gallops for, and who it stops cold for. ― William Shakespeare,

Even in a loud and harsh world, your quiet kindness can bring peace, comfort, and light. A gentle soul often heals what loud voices cannot.

i planted hope where no one would see tended the quiet, the calm, the plea and yet they took what i had sown a prize, a medal, a fame of their own my hands grew weary, my heart stayed true while coins fell into a stranger’s view the world may cheer for another’s name but peace is mine, it cannot be claimed i stand unbowed, my spirit wide the honor lives deep, it will not hide no gold, no prize, no public acclaim can erase the fire that still burns the same

Imagination doesn’t grow from what we consume passively; it grows from what we wrestle with, reinterpret, and internalize. A screen delivers images ready-made, complete, finished. A book forces the mind to become the missing architect to build the worlds, give faces to characters, and animate silence with meaning. The difference isn’t moral; it’s structural. One stream keeps you inside the frame. The other invites you to redraw it.