btw , u earn so much , the other day u got no money for rm 10 gift exchange. suka berjimat yeeee??? pandai.....

must we show of everything that everyone else got? i tot its humbling not to show off

There's an end to every beginning

Supermoto's posts are always so fucking cringe-worthy

ohh look i dont have money but can buy with cash oso

Dun so humble la

I remember open house at ur place,I took pic of ur car
Sorry arh

ever heard of the idea of primordial unity - ouroboros?

ok sorry dont la...

phew lucky no plate number.

elimi8z i think i might sell it to get more books for NXJ

I know the rules,don't worry

elimi8z i think i might sell it to get more books for NXJ

Sell 1 only what,mou man tai,I remember I saw a few other under the tarps
Lucky b*stard la u!

saint agata bull one cannot. so nice

if sell all can do like these

too bad, NXJ not appreciate. if not i will sacrifice all for these

No need so waste la,bro
Keep some of the cars in case if things didn't work out
You'll need the swag and cash to catch another

I laugh out loud. Moto you so rich liao? If NXJ can have this library mansion, i believe she will enjoice till cannot sleep and exciting like hell. hahaha. Everyone different. For her is books for me is money/helping humanity. For you surely motorbike stunning leh. haha.

Now that I know
That passion warms little
Of flesh in the mold,
And treasure is brittle,

I’ll lie here and learn
How, over their ground,
Trees make a long shadow
And a light sound.

    Strong Son of God, immortal Love,
      Whom we, that have not seen thy face,
      By faith, and faith alone, embrace,
    Believing where we cannot prove;

    Thine are these orbs of light and shade;
      Thou madest Life in man and brute;
      Thou madest Death; and lo, thy foot
    Is on the skull which thou hast made.

    Thou wilt not leave us in the dust:
      Thou madest man, he knows not why,
      He thinks he was not made to die;
    And thou hast made him: thou art just.

    Thou seemest human and divine,
      The highest, holiest manhood, thou.
      Our wills are ours, we know not how;
    Our wills are ours, to make them thine.

    Our little systems have their day;
      They have their day and cease to be:
      They are but broken lights of thee,
    And thou, O Lord, art more than they.

    We have but faith: we cannot know;
      For knowledge is of things we see
      And yet we trust it comes from thee,
    A beam in darkness: let it grow.

    Let knowledge grow from more to more,
      But more of reverence in us dwell;
      That mind and soul, according well,
    May make one music as before,

    But vaster. We are fools and slight;
      We mock thee when we do not fear:
      But help thy foolish ones to bear;
    Help thy vain worlds to bear thy light.

    Forgive what seem’d my sin in me;
      What seem’d my worth since I began;
      For merit lives from man to man,
    And not from man, O Lord, to thee.

    Forgive my grief for one removed,
      Thy creature, whom I found so fair.
      I trust he lives in thee, and there
    I find him worthier to be loved.

    Forgive these wild and wandering cries,
      Confusions of a wasted youth;
      Forgive them where they fail in truth,
    And in thy wisdom make me wise.

XXVII

    Thou comest, much wept for: such a breeze
      Compell’d thy canvas, and my prayer
      Was as the whisper of an air
    To breathe thee over lonely seas.

    For I in spirit saw thee move
      Thro’ circles of the bounding sky,
      Week after week: the days go by:
    Come quick, thou bringest all I love.

    Henceforth, wherever thou may’st roam,
      My blessing, like a line of light,
      Is on the waters day and night,
    And like a beacon guards thee home.

    So may whatever tempest mars
      Mid-ocean, spare thee, sacred bark;
      And balmy drops in summer dark
    Slide from the bosom of the stars.

    So kind an office hath been done,
      Such precious relics brought by thee;
      The dust of him I shall not see
    Till all my widow’d race be run.

LVI

    ‘So careful of the type?’ but no.
      From scarped cliff and quarried stone
      She cries, `A thousand types are gone:
    I care for nothing, all shall go.

    ‘Thou makest thine appeal to me:
      I bring to life, I bring to death:
      The spirit does but mean the breath:
    I know no more.’ And he, shall he,

    Man, her last work, who seem’d so fair,
      Such splendid purpose in his eyes,
      Who roll’d the psalm to wintry skies,
    Who built him fanes of fruitless prayer,

    Who trusted God was love indeed
      And love Creation’s final law-
      Tho’ Nature, red in tooth and claw
    With ravine, shriek’d against his creed-

    Who loved, who suffer’d countless ills,
      Who battled for the True, the Just,
      Be blown about the desert dust,
    Or seal’d within the iron hills?

    No more? A monster then, a dream,
      A discord. Dragons of the prime,
      That tare each other in their slime,
    Were mellow music match’d with him.

    O life as futile, then, as frail!
      O for thy voice to soothe and bless!
      What hope of answer, or redress?
    Behind the veil, behind the veil.