Now my class, you will learn to think foryourselves again. You will learn to enjoy words and language. No matter what anybody tells you, words andideas can change the world. We don’t read and write style because itscute. We read and write poetry because we are membersof the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. Medicine, rule, business, engineering theseare noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, allure, woo, affection. These are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman: ” O me! O living! Of the issue of these returning; of theendless studies of the faithless.Of metropolitans fitted with the nonsensical; what goodamid these, O me, O being? ” Answer: that you are here. That living exists, and name; that the powerfulplay gone on and you may contribute a verse.What will your lyric be? You must strive to find your own voice. Because the longer you wait to begin, theless likely you are to find it at all. Thoreau said “most men lead lives of quietdesperation.” Don’t be resigned to that. Break out. Conformity. The impediment in maintaining your own believesin the face of others. For those of you, I examine the look in your eyeslike “I would’ve strolled differently.” Well ask yourselves why you were clapping. We all have a great need for acceptance. But you must trust that your ideologies are unique, are your own. Even though other considered to be them off or unpopular.Even though the herd may move “that’s bad.” Robert Frost said “two roads diverged in awood and I, I made the one less travelled by. And that has made all the difference.” if I asked you about skill, you’d probably giveme the skinny on every artwork notebook currently written. Michelangelo, you know a lot about him. Life’s work, political goals, him andthe pope, sex orientations, the whole works, right? But I’ll bet you can’t tell me what it smellslike in the Sistine Chapel. You’ve never actually stood there and lookedup at that beautiful ceiling; seen that.If I ask you about women, you’d probably giveme a syllabus about your personal favorites. You may have even been laid a few terms. But you can’t tell me what it feels like towake up next to a woman and feel rightfully glad. And I’d ask you about crusade, you’d probablythrow Shakespeare at me, right, “once more unto the breach dear friends.” But you’ve never been near one.You’ve never held your best friend’s headin your sip, watch him breath his last-place gulp would be interested to you of providing assistance. I’d ask you about love, you’d probably quoteme a sonnet. But you’ve never looked at a woman and beentotally susceptible. Known someone that could level you with hereyes, feeling like God situated an angel on earth just for you. Who could rescue you from the depths of blaze. And you wouldn’t know what it’s like to beher angel, to have that charity for her, be there forever, through anything, through cancer. And you wouldn’t know about sleeping sittingup in the hospital room for two months, maintaining her mitt, because the doctors could see inyour eyes, that the terms “visiting hours” don’t apply to you. You don’t know about real loss,’ cause itonly occurs when you’ve adored something more than you love yourself.And I doubt you’ve ever dared to desire anybodythat much ..