View allAll Photos Tagged Rejection
My dear beloved
I fear love as I fear you
Through my laughter, I can hide what bothers me
Not always
Sometimes I laugh because I laugh
I cried when you left
I cried so hard
I cried 'til no tears were left to cry
And I hated love
I felt empty and worn
Betrayed and used
I felt abandoned and useless
All felt useless and unworthy
It was then, that I closed all doors to my heart
I closed them and I laughed, but I did not really laugh
After a while, I started to feel joy again
I discovered music again and I wrote
I wrote so much
And all the while I hoped to never see you again
Because, seeing you meant to feel again your touch
I will never forget how we sat in perfect
Silence, listening to bad musicians trying to be funny
And we said nothing, and just held each other
I shall never forget that
It was then that I knew that, a part of me belonged to you forever
And I could not say what part it was
It wasn't my body, and it was more than my heart
Some would call it magic, others love
I don't know how you call it
I don't know what it was, but I could have sat there forever
And now, I'm coming back
Although it was you who left
But I'm coming
And I fear love
I fear love, because more than love, I fear rejection
I fear rejection and abandonment, and blame, guilt or addiction
To not be touched
To not be loved
That is what I fear
Yes, I fear to not be loved
In fact, to fear to not be loved
Belongs to love, because love is so delicate
It disappears if you do not care for it
Love is like snow
It falls only under certain conditions and it
Stays only for a season and then, melts away
That is what I have experienced with love
And why with you is it, that I want it to stay forever?
And then it's not winter nor spring
Is the moment when I touch your hands
And feel your nearness and your silence
And within this silence I can hear you, but not in words
I hear something else
And it can only be you, because you sound different
You sound different than the rest
And I have heard many, but you sound different
Like the palms of your hands, they felt unique in mine
As if they belonged to me
Your head on my breasts, feel like the first touch
Your lips when they rest on my skin
They feel like the only lips, I want to have on me everywhere softly
I want your gentle love
Yes, I fear brutality and violence
Within this softness, because I know it
I have known it
And now, I fear love
Maybe I have always feared
But I'm coming, my love
I'm coming
And I want to be gentle
And I want your gentle touch
Please be patient with me
I have known other than pure love
I have known other than pure love
Let us be gentle, my love
And not fear love
Let us, be us
Let us be touched by silence
When we hold each other's hands
When we hold each other's hands
This is a black & white interpretation of a shot that I took at the Wakodahatchee Wetlands, in Delray Beach, Florida. I was there in March of 2025, during the mating season for many birds, including this gorgeous snowy egret, perched in full sun with at dark background.
I've been working with DxO's Nik Silver Efex, experimenting to see which color images might benefit from B&W interpretation. I think this one works because the gamut is from pure white to pure black, with lots of nice details.
Photo-geeks that look at my setting may thing that I"m crazy to shoot at ISO 800, instead of ISO 100, which required a shutter speed of 1/10000-sec. to avoid blowing out the details of the bright white bird. ISO-800 is a Base ISO for this particular camera and I was set up to try to catch birds in flight. When I came upon this beauty, I just spun my shutter speed dial until the whites were not over exposed. There's more than one way to skin a cat.
Here's a link to the color version:
www.flickr.com/photos/dcstep/54402373887/in/album-7217772...
“I choose to love you in silence…
For in silence I find no rejection,
I choose to love you in loneliness…
For in loneliness no one owns you but me,
I choose to adore you from a distance…
For distance will shield me from pain,
I choose to kiss you in the wind…
For the wind is gentler than my lips,
I choose to hold you in my dreams…
For in my dreams, you have no end.”
Rumi
From summer sunshine to beach storm in thirty minutes.
Washington Oaks Gardens State Park
Palm Coast, Florida, USA.
31 August 2025.
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👎 Rejection:
On 3 October 2025, the administrator for the Flickr group "Deserted Landscapes" rejected this photo for NOT displaying a deserted landscape. It's a landscape. It's deserted. Surely, they cannot be serious.
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▶ Photo by: YFGF.
▶ For a larger image, press 'L' (without the quotation marks).
— Follow on Instagram: @tcizauskas.
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▶ Camera: Olympus OM-D E-M10 II.
— Lens: Olympus M.14-42mm F3.5-5.6 II R.
— Edit: Photoshop Elements 15, Nik Collection (2016).
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▶ This image is licensed via Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 (CC BY-NC-ND 4.0). You may copy and/or distribute it in any medium or format, but:
— only in unadapted form
— only for noncommercial purposes
— and only so long as attribution is given (via link and name).
▶ Commercial use is forbidden except with explicit permission.
Tiny Confederate violets make their annual late-winter debut.
DeKalb County (Winnona Park), Georgia, USA.
15 March 2025.
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📷 Photographer's notes.
☞ Viola sororia f. priceana is a variant of the common blue violet (Viola sororia), both native to eastern North America. The former is called a Confederate violet due to its colors reminiscent of a Confederate Civil War uniform, i.e., blue and gray.
☞ This is a closeup. The wildflowers were only one centimeter in diameter; they appear much larger in the image than they did in 'real' life.
☞ See the more abundant purple-hued violet variant: here. The two violet types often grow in propinquity.
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👎 Rejection.
On 22 March 2025, a moderator for the Flickr group "GEORGIA, THE PEACH STATE" rejected this photo for NOT displaying "scenic beauty of the State of Georgia, USA." It's difficult to fathom a rationale for the rejection...and none was provided.
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▶ Photo by: YFGF.
▶ For a larger image, type 'L' (without the quotation marks).
— Follow on Instagram: @tcizauskas.
— Follow on Threads: @tcizauskas.
— Follow on Bluesky: @tcizauskas.
▶ Camera: Olympus OM-D E-M10 II.
— Lens: Olympus M.40-150mm F4.0-5.6 R.
— Edit: Photoshop Elements 15, Nik Collection (2016).
▶ Commercial use requires explicit permission, as per Creative Commons.
Watching the progress of our indoor Narcissus.
The strange happenings in the plant world, or is it the strangeness in my head.
Makes a change from talking TO the plants.
Maybe I’d allowed myself to get carried away with things a bit too much. While there was no doubting that it was one of my own favourites this year, I later returned to the image, now sitting on my wall in the form of a large aluminium acrylic print and looked at it more critically. Putting to one side the irritation that the printed version lacked the vibrance of the one on my computer screen, I could see that Gull Rock was just a little bit soft, and might have looked more effective if I’d darkened down the shadows a bit more. Of course, it wouldn’t be completely tack sharp from front to back when I’d taken the entire scene in a single frame without resorting to a focus stack. Not even in the middle of the focal range of the wide angle lens at f16 could I expect not to see some imperfections. “Why hadn’t I focus stacked?” I asked myself. I must have been suffering from that sense of “new scene” rush, combined with a limited amount of time, combined with the fact that I was there in the company of visitors who weren’t photographers.
Of course I’d never have reviewed my photo so carefully if it weren’t for the big print that sits over my computer or the fact that I’d entered it into Nigel Danson’s world landscape photographer of the year competition. I don’t do competitions normally because I don’t deal with rejection well, but the fact that the entry fee was going to be of help to Ukrainians persuaded me that perhaps for once I should prepare myself for eventual disappointment. For a day or two I ruminated over my entries, examining potential candidates closely and imagining Mads and Nigel picking holes in them before consigning them to the reject pile. “At least I’ve got that Trebarwith shot,” I told myself. “That one’s definitely in.” Eventually I narrowed it down to five pictures that I believed to be about the best I could manage. A moody winter shot at Wheal Coates threatened to break the rules that had prevented me from entering a single one from my considerably enormous Godrevy gallery. “No buildings,” said the small type “unless they’re incidental to the scene.” I uploaded my five images and waited for Nigel to make the phone call, congratulate me and pop a brand new Nikon kit in the post.
The winning entries were predictably superb, each of them with that added bit of magic that turns a good photograph into something memorable. Did you see them? As I watched our head judge one Sunday morning talking his followers through the prize winners and honourable mentions I was reminded that there is still a very long way to go on this adventure. I’m not expecting to ever win anything of course, but I do want to improve. Mr Danson was also good enough to review some of the submissions that had not completely impressed the galaxy of esteemed judges, with permission from the entrants of course. At least I hadn’t been singled out and shamed for failing to address a lack of balance or an absence of edge patrol, and none of my halos had been highlighted to a watching audience. Nobody had complained that my light source was darker than my foreground or that my focal point wasn’t entirely compelling. Hidden away among the thousands of also rans, there was much I could learn from the experience. And I was still happy with the shots I’d entered, even if they hadn’t appeared on anyone’s shortlist. Ultimately that’s all that really matters, isn’t it? Of course, none of the things I could have done might have advanced my entries further up the final scoreboard, but at least entering a competition for once had found me looking more closely at my own pictures and thinking about how the moods I always try to convey might be backed up with improvements in the technical and compositional departments. Progress is progress. Anyway, even if Mads and Nigel had both been knocked over the head by persons unknown and come bouncing over the airwaves in misguided excitement before sending me the coveted first prize, I’d have only ended up agonising over whether to stick with the gear I know and love or move wholesale to a new mirrorless set up.
Recently I noticed the Trebarwith folder still sitting on my screen, untouched since making straight for the one image that had caught my attention when I’d raced through the day’s results on the back of the camera. It was my first, and to date only visit to a place where I’d somehow managed to stay on my feet on a narrow slippery shelf of rock, before battling for space with four or five other ageing togs on rather more solid footing while the previously unpromising sky began to work some magic above a gentle high tide. Finally, I returned to the perilous green patch where everyone else feared to tread and where the stream that enters the sea cuts through the shelf in a series of attractive swirls and eddies, but not before I’d managed to jostle my way to the front row and capture the setting sun as it turned orange and cast its glow across the hard black slab on which we were standing. And now, three months later I was at last looking through that folder and finding images I’d ignored in the race to publish the one that had drawn my eye at first glance. Trebarwith, it seemed had delivered on that Bank Holiday Monday in May. Somewhere in those moments among the small gaggle of battling togs, the incoming surf had created some foreground interest without covering the orange reflections on the dark rocks.
Ali keeps on mentioning an overnight park up at Tintagel, another place I’ve never made it to in all my years of living in Cornwall. It’s her way of saying “can we go there in the van please?” With locations like this and the sea pool at Bude on offer, it seems daft not to agree really. She won’t mind if the camera bag gets surreptitiously slipped into the overhead cab. I expect an autumn visit is on the cards then.
Dunes after late-afternoon storm.
St. Augustine Beach (Crescent Beach), Florida, USA.
1 September 2024 (18:39 EDT).
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👎 Rejection:
On 19 August 2025, the administrator for the Flickr group "CSSS: Earth - Landscape Dominate" rejected this photo. (The acronym 'CSSS' stands for 'cloud, storm, sunset, or sunrise.) So, let's examine things. The image displays dissipating storm clouds; sunset will arrive within the hour; the beach landscape comprises half the image. So what's the problem? Unexplained nonsense.
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▶ Photo and — Pic(k) of the Week — by: YFGF.
▶ For a larger image, type 'L' (without the quotation marks).
— Follow on Facebook: YoursForGoodFermentables.
— Follow on Instagram: @tcizauskas.
— Follow on Threads: @tcizauskas.
▶ Camera: Olympus OM-D E-M10 II.
— Lens: Olympus M.40-150mm F4.0-5.6 R.
— Edit: Photoshop Elements 15, Nik Collection (2016).
▶ Commercial use requires explicit permission, as per Creative Commons.
4/4 pelote de réjection
D'un violent coup de tête elle expulse la pelote . Quelle chance inouïe d'avoir pu suivre cette action de si près. Elle n'arrête pas de m'étonner cette chère petite !
4/4 disgorged pellet
With a violent head stroke, she expels the pellet. What an incredible chance to have been able to follow this action so closely. She keeps surprising me this dear little one!
Photo prise dans le Marais Breton.
Il s'est laissé photographier longuement alors que je n'étais même pas cachée et à seulement 6m de lui. Je me demande donc si ce n'est pas le même que l'année dernière que j'avais vu au même endroit 🤔
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Photo taken in the Breton Marsh (France).
He let himself be photographed for a long time while I wasn’t even hidden at 6m in front of him. So, I wonder if it’s not the same obliging individual that I saw last year on the same post 🤔
Galileo Galilei was an important Italian scientist, physicist, mathematician, astronomer and philosopher. His scientific contribution started a new era in the history of astronomy, he was the first astronomer to access new knowledge using the telescope. He defended the concept that the Earth was not the center of the universe.
Galileo Galilei was born in Pisa, Italy, on February 15, 1564, son of Vincenzo Galilei and Julia Ammannati. His parents noticed Galilei's great intelligence and special aptitudes from an early age. The boy showed an interest in the arts and performed excellent paintings, demonstrating manual skill and creativity to manufacture toys and contraptions. He played the organ and zither with aplomb. Thus, Galilei excelled in studies at the Sunday school in Vallombrosa and planned to enter the monastery, but his father did not agree with the idea and enrolled him to study medicine at the University of Pisa. Two years after joining, he dropped out of the course and went to dedicate himself to the study of mathematics. The move did not please his father, and Galilei ended up dropping out of the University in 1585. He did not complete any degrees, but in the same year he went to Florence and began giving private lessons to support himself. He stood out for his research in geometry and continued with his mathematical studies.
It was at this time that he invented the hydrostatic balance, a mechanism that would be published in a detailed treatise in the year 1644. In 1589, in recognition of his scientific contributions and brilliant reasoning, he was appointed to the chair of mathematics at the University of Pisa. He was not welcomed by teachers, as he was only 25 years old, had incomplete academic training and publicly discredited Aristotle's established theories. In 1590 Galilei published a treatise on the motion of bodies. In 1591 he was removed from the professorship, after succumbing to intrigues and disputes with Aristotle's supporters. In 1592 he was appointed by the Senate of Venice to teach mathematics at the University of Padua, a position he would hold for 18 years. In 1609 he built a telescope based on the one previously invented by Hans Lippershey in Holland. Galilei made meticulous observations of the sky and incredible discoveries: he located the four largest moons of Jupiter and the mountains and craters on the Moon's surface. And when he detected spots present on the Sun's surface, the discovery helped to prove his theory that the star rotated on an axis. He investigated Saturn and observed what appeared to be two fixed moons, which were the edges of Saturn's ring system, but Galilei's telescope was not accurate enough to determine exactly what those points were.
His findings were collected and published in March 1610 in the book “The Messenger of the Stars”. The work was acclaimed and also generated much controversy, as Galilei publicly defended Nicolaus Copernicus' theory that the Sun was the center of our Solar System, not the Earth. At that time, the Catholic Church fully controlled science and held the opposite view, that the center was the Earth.
In 1616 Galilei was cornered by the authorities of the Inquisition and threatened with the death penalty if he did not publicly deny the scientific truths he had proved. He was expressly prohibited from teaching and propagating ideas that were contrary to the position of the Church. Even so, in 1632 he published the "Dialogue Concerning the Two Greatest Systems of the Universe", causing the Church's total rejection and intolerance. Prevented from continuing with his research and theories, the scientist retired to his castle located in Arcetri, a village near Florence, where he dedicated himself to pursuing his experiments alone.
Galileo Galilei died on January 8, 1642 in Arcetri, Italy. He was almost blinded by the observation of sunspots done without adequate protection for decades. Three hundred and fifty years later, through Pope John Paul II, on October 31, 1992, the Catholic Church formally recognized the legitimacy of Galilei's theories.
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He is reburied here:
A beautiful building built at the turn of the century, in Castle Road, Southsea. At the moment it has a hairdresser's, but I remember it as an antique shop. I actually had an interview for a job there a few years ago, as an administrator for two architects - sadly I didn't get the job, but I had the nicest rejection letter from them!
No-one should be made to feel isolated, rejected, afraid, or persecuted simply because of their colour......nor for their religion, birthplace, gender, sexual orientation, or disabilities. We must keep compassion in our heart and an open mind while standing strong against those who'd senselessly have us act otherwise.
Like so many of us, I am truly sickened by what has unfolded in the past few days in the US and with that insidious bigoted nightmare they call President.
I was going to save this image to post on Nov. 11th, Remembrance Day. Somehow it seems quite fitting to share it now.
Blog: tallyesin.com/index.php/tally-blog/walk-to-life/81
Walk To Life
Lifeless, motionless.
Void of sound and sensation.
Numb to the very touch of life.
The sky dark, my mind blank.
Hunting for the next breath,
Struggling to survive.
Eyes clenched tight,
Sealed by tenacious tears.
My mind stops floating,
and lays still in the shadows,
Waiting, healing, replenishing.
It was not the world that was lifeless,
But my heart, destroyed,
By a lifetime of torment,
Rejection, arrows laced with affliction,
Open, wounded, exposed.
I hear the wind, singing,
It's tune of rustling leaves,
of creaking branches.
I feel, I hear, I taste.
I rise up, I move, I breathe.
My lungs filled with,
the essence of the earth
My mind strong.
I am who I am, because I am
Not because I was or will be.
Not dictated to, without anguish,
Without void, only the scars,
As reminders, as tools
To walk from death
I'll walk to life.
A mallard hen (Anas platyrhynchos) was swimming in a bog, right in front of me, just below the camera's angle. She noticed me and, not pleased, let out a stream of loud, agitated quacks. Her six ducklings, alerted to danger, quickly scattered for safety. I couldn't help but apologize to them all as I exited...but not before capturing a photo!
City of Decatur (Winnona Park), Georgia, USA.
24 April 2025.
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▶ Rejection:
On 13 May 2025, the administrator for the Flickr group "Nature Shoot All the World/ No flowers Wild animal only" rejected this photo for NOT displaying wild animals. Following my appeal, they amended their decision and approved the image. Thank you.
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▶ Photo by: YFGF.
▶ For a larger image, type 'L' (without the quotation marks).
— Follow on Instagram: @tcizauskas.
— Follow on Threads: @tcizauskas.
— Follow on Bluesky: @tcizauskas.
▶ Camera: Olympus OM-D E-M10 II.
— Lens: Olympus M.40-150mm F4.0-5.6 R.
— Edit: Photoshop Elements 15, Nik Collection (2016).
▶ Commercial use requires explicit permission, as per Creative Commons.
i wish i wasn't afraid of rejection.
i never really noticed it until now how afraid i am of it. i've gotten so used to it (the fear) that i barely know that it's there. if you get to know me better, you'll probably see it too; even when i don't.
of course most people are afraid of rejection but i don't want to be one of them because it makes me soooo antisocial/socially awkward. when i first meet someone, i don't know what to do because i'm so afraid that the person won't like me. and i really want to just let go of that FUCKING fear and not care whether someone likes me or not. i mean..if they don't like me for who i am then why should i go out of my way and waste my time on people that don't even want me there?
I'M AWARE OF THIS YET I CAN'T SEEM TO FIX IT. GOD DAMMIT.
sorry for the excessive swearing.
here's on black (try a smaller size for optical illusion-y vision)
Continuing on from the last picture, I met up with Sam and set up on the west end of P Dale to get the westbounds in golden hour.
Well, thanks to that Arbor load parked on the right there, they ran both directions on the other main. Because of that, this is the only shot I ended up getting, and a bit too early for the good light, as they lined more eastbounds into the yard and the next westbound didn't get out until dark.
To make up for the lost time, however, I did fill out a job application. Lord knows I've gotten countless rejections since graduating last spring, but I haven't filled out an application while out railfanning. I also held Sam hostage until I finished the application, and he hadn't helped with the others, so maybe the combination of those two things will bring me good luck.
BNSF SD70ACe 8414 leads a coal empty westbound on the Ravenna Subdivision outside Pleasant Dale, Nebraska, October 18, 2022.
Credits:
The flowers featured above in this post is [Bad Unicorn] Fighting Flowers! Tis the season to flirt and show love. But just incase of a little rejection whack them with the flowers! This is a fun item for rp or just a playful banter between friends.
___________________________
Head Credits:
Head:LeLUTKA Skyler Head 3.1
Glasses: CHRNO WIN25 glasses mix [ deluxe pack ] @ manhood
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Body Credits:
Body: [LEGACY] Meshbody (m) Special Edition (1.6)
Shirt: AMNESIA – Carlos Shirt – FATPACK @ manhood
Weapon: [Bad Unicorn] Fighting Flowers
Pants: Bartimeu – Adriel Suit [FULLPACK]
Shoes: : CULT : Darren Fatpack @ manhood
___________________________
Pose Credits:
Pose: B(u)Y Me : Redd . Mp (BOX//WEAR) @ manhood
___________________________
Manhood event info:
Fʟɪᴄᴋʀ↓
Fᴀᴄᴇʙᴏᴏᴋ↓
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The title is a new macro technique I am considering patenting.
If you leave your macro lens at home (like I did) and all you have is a telephoto, do this:
Ask a passer-by if you could lean the camera on his/her shoulder to alleviate camera shake when trying to focus on a pea-sized plant at 300 yards.
After about eight rejections, a couple of chases, one or two screams of "help, police" and a black eye, the ninth usually agrees.
Then crop the result to hell.
Patent applied for. Dublin April 2010
No MM group for me anymore, tired of their rejections, so this is my macro shot for this morning. Please don't comment using that group's name.
I have often asked, “Do you know why older people are so sensitive?” quickly followed by my version of the answer;
“It is because unlike joy which is somewhat limitless, our ability to deal with rejection which is the source of most sadness, is like being born with a book of tickets.
Each time we face rejection we would use one or more tickets.
As we grow older, we realize that we still have a long life ahead of us but not enough tickets left.
So, we choose our battles and we weather the rest”.
ps: This is my first male portrait uploaded since September 2015.
And yes! It is a candid shot.
ps: As usual, forever and ever plugging my one You Tube video.
Voyage en absurdie
Succession de photos saisies à l’instinct sans lien direct entre-elles.
Du noir et blanc alors que Marseille regorge de lumière, de couleurs.
De la banalité des lieux, des instants, captés par mon oeil bienveillant sur cette ville qui suscite passion, rejet voire même haine.
Marseille - Mai 2022
Day-long absurd trip
Succession of photos captured on instinct with no direct link between them.
Black and white while Marseille is full of light and colors.
From the banality of places, moments, captured by my benevolent eye on this city that arouses passion, rejection and even hatred.
Marseille - May 2022
© Leanne Boulton, All Rights Reserved
Candid street photography from Glasgow, Scotland. Despite the fact that I believe the two characters in my shot to be completely unrelated, the body language of both leads to some great imaginative stories. As always you can enjoy full screen by pressing 'L' or clicking on the image!
People worry about kids playing with guns, and teenagers watching violent videos; we are scared that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands - literally thousands - of songs about broken hearts and rejection and pain and misery and loss. - Nick Hornby
Chartreuse du Reposoir, Haute-Savoie, Auvergne-Rhône-Alpes, France.
La Chartreuse du Reposoir es una antigua cartuja situada en el territorio del municipio del mismo nombre, en el departamento de Alta Saboya, en la región de Auvernia-Ródano-Alpes.
Situado en el valle del Foron du Reposoir, en un circo boscoso al borde de un pequeño lago, los edificios que bordean el río están dominados por la cadena Reposoir al este y la cadena Bargy al noroeste. El establecimiento fue fundado en 1151 por el Beato Cartujo Juan de España y estuvo ocupado ininterrumpidamente hasta la Revolución Francesa y luego entre 1866 y 1901. La antigua Cartuja alberga una comunidad de monjas carmelitas desde 1932 y hoy se llama Monasterio del Carmelo de Reposoir. La Chartreuse está clasificada como monumento histórico.
La cartuja forma una plaza orientada de oeste a este, y reúne en su recinto lo que originalmente se llamaba la Correrie que estaba separada del monasterio.
El gran claustro rodea todas las casas de los Padres Cartujos; sus bóvedas en forma de silbato penetran los muros sin apoyo. Así llega cada monje a su casa. Las celdas de los Padres constituyen el cuadrado al norte y al sur y lo completan al este. El muro del cerramiento conecta los del norte entre sí; al sur y al este, se desprenden de él. Al pie de cada uno hay un parterre de flores de forma cuadrada. En la pared de enfrente está fijada una gran cruz negra, que el cenobita ve necesariamente cuando mira hacia afuera.
Las celdas se indican con una letra del alfabeto. Al lado de la puerta hay un pequeño portillo donde el solitario viene a recoger sus provisiones. Si necesita otras cosas, sólo tiene que dejar allí una nota con la letra de su celular. La cama tiene forma de armario, la ropa de cama se compone de un gran palet de lona, un almohadón, sábanas y unas cuantas mantas de lana que sustituyen a las de antaño. Junto al lecho se encuentra el oratorio, formado por una sillería y un reclinatorio, donde el monje recita la mayor parte de los servicios.
Al oeste de este claustro se encuentran la iglesia, la sala capitular y el pequeño claustro que data del siglo XVI y restaurado en 1929. Su construcción se atribuye a la generosidad de la Casa de Saboya cuyas armas aparecen entre las dieciséis claves policromadas. Este claustro está formado por cuatro galerías cubiertas que rodean un patio. Cada arcada de arco apuntado que da al patio se subdivide en una red de tres pequeños arcos polibados y tracería flamígera. Los grandes pilares cuadrados, la prohibición sistemática de la decoración escultórica y el rechazo de la vertical dan a este edificio del gótico tardío un aspecto achaparrado, pesado y austero. Las bóvedas de crucería, características de la arquitectura gótica, se basan en dos arcos apuntados que se cruzan en diagonal. Estas bóvedas y arcos están formados por claves, piedras talladas en forma de cuñas, apoyadas unas sobre otras. La clave es la llave central colocada en lo alto de una bóveda y que bloquea las demás piedras en la posición deseada.
La iglesia, cuya primera piedra fue colocada por Aymon I de Faucigny, hermano de Ardutius de Faucigny, obispo de Ginebra, es de estilo ojival. A lo largo del muro norte de la iglesia se encuentran la Capilla del Beato Juan de España (ahora sacristía interior) y la Capilla de San Antonio (hoy sacristía exterior para sacerdotes).
The Chartreuse du Reposoir is a former charterhouse located on the territory of the municipality of the same name, in the Haute-Savoie department, in the Auvergne-Rhône-Alpes region.
Located in the valley of the Foron du Reposoir, in a wooded cirque on the edge of a small lake, the buildings bordering the river are dominated by the Reposoir chain to the east and the Bargy chain to the northwest. The establishment was founded in 1151 by the Blessed Carthusian John of Spain and was occupied continuously until the French Revolution and then between 1866 and 1901. The former Carthusian has housed a community of Carmelite nuns since 1932 and today is called the Monastery of the Carmel of Reposoir. La Chartreuse is classified as a historical monument.
The charterhouse forms a square oriented from west to east, and brings together in its enclosure what was originally called the Correrie, which was separated from the monastery.
The great cloister surrounds all the houses of the Carthusian Fathers; Its whistle-shaped vaults penetrate the walls without support. This is how each monk arrives at his house. The cells of the Fathers constitute the square to the north and south and complete it to the east. The enclosure wall connects the northern ones to each other; to the south and east, they detach themselves from it. At the foot of each one is a square flower bed. On the opposite wall is fixed a large black cross, which the Cenobite necessarily sees when he looks out.
Cells are indicated by a letter of the alphabet. Next to the door there is a small gate where the loner comes to collect his supplies. If he needs other things, he just has to leave a note there with the handwriting on his cell phone. The bed is shaped like a wardrobe, the bedding consists of a large canvas pallet, a pillow, sheets and a few wool blankets that replace those of yesteryear. Next to the bed is the oratory, made up of a chair and a kneeler, where the monk recites most of the services.
To the west of this cloister are the church, the chapter house and the small cloister dating from the 16th century and restored in 1929. Its construction is attributed to the generosity of the House of Savoy whose arms appear among the sixteen polychrome keys. This cloister is made up of four covered galleries that surround a patio. Each pointed arch arcade facing the courtyard is subdivided into a network of three small polybate arches and flamboyant tracery. The large square pillars, the systematic prohibition of sculptural decoration and the rejection of the vertical give this late Gothic building a squat, heavy and austere appearance. The cross vaults, characteristic of Gothic architecture, are based on two pointed arches that intersect diagonally. These vaults and arches are formed by keystones, stones carved in the shape of wedges, resting on each other. The key is the central key placed at the top of a vault and which locks the other stones in the desired position.
The church, whose foundation stone was laid by Aymon I de Faucigny, brother of Ardutius de Faucigny, bishop of Geneva, is in the ogival style. Along the north wall of the church are the Chapel of Blessed John of Spain (now the interior sacristy) and the Chapel of Saint Anthony (today the exterior sacristy for priests).
Even in the grounds of the hotel we couldn’t completely escape the sales pitches. Each day as we settled by the pool, the same guys would make their way around the sunbeds, reintroducing themselves to the punters as if they’d never met us before. The young man from the spa was particularly immune to rejection. At least twice a day he’d approach us and ask if we’d changed our mind about being beaten up by one of his team of masseurs. Twice a day we politely rebuffed his overtures, making it clear that the service he offered wasn't in our lexicon of fun things to do. Other suitors came and went throughout the afternoons, trying to sell us all manner of things we’d shown absolutely no interest in. At least they weren’t as persistent as those naughty Bedouin tribesmen in the mountains who refused to take no for an answer. The only way to deal with them was to avoid eye contact and keep moving. Not long after arriving, we booked the desert buggy safari, and some time before leaving home I’d paid for the overnight excursion to Mount Sinai, but apart from that we were very happy right here. I’d been put off the scuba diving experience by a tragic accident in the Red Sea that had been in the news just a few weeks beforehand. I could stick to using my snorkelling gear down on the hotel’s private beach. At the welcome meeting on the first morning, one well heeled young couple from London paid for a number of excursions, including day trips to Cairo and Luxor. The total bill came close to what I paid for the pair of us to spend two weeks here.
So the hotel grounds were our home for most of the two weeks that we spent in Egypt. As long as we stayed down on the beach, or by the unheated infinity pool that overlooked the Red Sea, things were relatively peaceful, with Fahim, our friendly waiter, bringing drinks to us on a tray at regular intervals. Well they were peaceful with the exception of the septuagenarian card school from Preston who couldn’t live without the collection of 1960’s hits that rattled out of a tinny speaker on the first afternoon of our stay. We gave them a wide berth afterwards. Down here, egrets and hoopoes, shy birds in Europe, populated the lawns with the bravado of pigeons, prospecting for invertebrates and whatever else they could find. Most residents spent the daytime at the bunga bunga pool, where loud music blared from huge speakers for several hours at a time as the all inclusive party monsters barely moved from their underwater stools beside the bar. We jumped in that pool just once. It was lovely and warm, but within three minutes of being there I couldn’t take any more from a number of the potty mouthed patrons who were unable to string a sentence together without throwing in an F bomb or seven.
For a couple of hours each afternoon, just around five, the quiet time descended like a soft embrace. By now we’d be on the balcony of our apartment, listening to nature’s music, the evening chorus, overlooking the still glowing bunga bunga pool as the yellow and blue clad animations team switched all the noisy things off and headed for their quarters before supper. And there with reassuring regularity went the hotel grounds team, just like always, walking along the path towards reception. All of them clad from head to foot in green workwear, three of them sporting the trademark white wellies, while the other, presumably the boss, wore plain black shoes.
In one corner of the hotel grounds were a handful of shops selling things we neither needed nor wanted, but one evening Ali couldn’t resist dragging me over in that direction after dinner, just to browse. And there in the window of the first shop was the answer for all of us of a certain age. Sphinx Anti-Wrinkle Oils, an organic moisturiser. On the box, a picture supposedly showed two halves of the same female face. The right side portrayed a sixty-five year old zombie with an ominous looking skin complaint, while on the left sparkled a fresh looking beauty in the first bloom of youth. If the transformation were genuine, demand would be off the scale and the world would run out of Sphinx Anti-Wrinkle Oils overnight. People would be spending weeks at a time lying in bath tubs full of the stuff in California. I couldn’t help thinking it was a mistake for the beauty queen to be on the left, but then again doesn’t the Arab world read from the other side of the page? I knew too that it was a mistake for Ali to take a photo of this dubious looking product with its barely credible claims, but she couldn’t resist. And I also knew the irony would go whooshing over the head of the salesman waiting behind us for his moment to pounce. It’s hard to back out when they sink their teeth into a potential customer.
He asked us where we came from, no doubt a salesman’s trick to put the target at ease, although this always has completely the opposite effect on me. We like to answer with “Cornwall” rather than “Britain” or “England” and watch the confusion spread across peoples’ faces. It’s the only form of counter attack we have. But this one was keeping an unplayable ace up his sleeve. Looking at her, he came back with “Inside I’ve got something. If you give him two drops it will turn him into crazy horse for four or five hours.” What, like the Osmonds? Ali giggled nervously as I quietly died on the inside. It was time to move on, and quickly. We skirted the other shops, looked into the Piri Piri Bar from the outside, decided we preferred the one in the lobby, and snuck off into the shadows to walk around the grounds in peace.
Acid attacks have been a horrific phenomenon in Bangladesh for several decades. In most cases, victims are women and children who have been targeted for various reasons, including rejection of marriage proposals, disputes over property, or family issues. These attacks are typically carried out by disgruntled partners, relatives, or acquaintances using cheap and easily accessible acid.
The effects of acid attacks are both physical and psychological, and they often leave victims with lifelong scars. Acid burns can cause severe disfigurement, blindness, and even death. The victims also suffer from psychological trauma, including depression, anxiety, and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).
The physical and emotional toll of acid attacks can be devastating for victims, and it can also have significant social and economic consequences. Many victims become outcasts in their communities, unable to work, and facing social stigma and discrimination. They may also require expensive medical treatment and ongoing care, which can be financially crippling for them and their families.
Despite the severity of the crime and the devastating impact on victims, acid attacks remain a pervasive problem in Bangladesh. In many cases, perpetrators are not brought to justice due to a lack of resources, corruption, or inadequate legal systems. Even when cases do go to court, convictions are rare, and many perpetrators walk free due to inadequate evidence or lenient sentencing.
The Bangladeshi government has made some efforts to address this issue, including imposing stricter regulations on the sale of acid and establishing specialized burn units in hospitals. However, these measures have not been enough to prevent acid attacks or ensure justice for victims.
The acid attack epidemic in Bangladesh is a tragic and ongoing human rights crisis that requires urgent attention and action from government authorities, civil society organizations, and the international community. It is essential to create a comprehensive response that includes prevention, protection, and justice for victims, as well as efforts to change societal attitudes towards gender-based violence.
I started a Halloween group after becoming highly dissatisfied with others on Flickr. Easy to join. Just like your dating history there's going to be a lot of rejection and regret but don't let that discourage you. Try harder!
Giorgio Morandi (July 20, 1890 – June 18, 1964) was an Italian painter and printmaker widely known for his subtly muted still-life paintings of ceramic vessels, flowers, and landscapes—their quiet, meditative quality reflecting the artist's rejection of the tumult of modern life.
For more informations:
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Giorgio_Morandi
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“It is an illusion that photos are made with the camera…
they are made with the eye, heart and head.”
[Henry Cartier Bresson]
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“Over the years, I have come to realize that the greatest trap in our life is not success, popularity, or power, but self-rejection. Success, popularity, and power can indeed present a great temptation, but their seductive quality often comes from the way they are part of the much larger temptation to self-rejection. When we have come to believe in the voices that call us worthless and unlovable, then success, popularity, and power are easily perceived as attractive solutions. The real trap, however, is self-rejection. As soon as someone accuses me or criticizes me, as soon as I am rejected, left alone, or abandoned, I find myself thinking, "Well, that proves once again that I am a nobody." ... [My dark side says,] I am no good... I deserve to be pushed aside, forgotten, rejected, and abandoned. Self-rejection is the greatest enemy of the spiritual life because it contradicts the sacred voice that calls us the "Beloved." Being the Beloved constitutes the core truth of our existence.”
― Henri J.M. Nouwen
In a world where so many of us feel disconnected, judged, or overlooked, Yeshua reminds us that no one is ever truly alone. Whether we struggle with feelings of inadequacy, loneliness, or the weight of our past, we are never beyond the reach of His love. In our busy, often isolating lives, He approaches us with compassion, offering not ruin but redemption, not rejection but belonging, not condemnation but forgiveness.
Just as He reached out to the woman who had been shunned and despised by her community, Yeshua invites each of us into a life of meaning, purpose, and community. He shows us that the deepest thirst of all is quenched only by the living water He offers.
Heaven for Everyone..
By Queen
This could be heaven
This could be heaven
This could be heaven for everyone
In these days of cool reflection
You come to me and everything seems alright
In these days of cold affections
You sit by me - and everything's fine
This could be heaven for everyone
This world could be fed, this world could be fun
This could be heaven for everyone
This world could be free, this world could be one
In this world of cool deception
Just your smile can smooth my ride
These troubled days of cruel rejection, hmm
You come to me, soothe my troubled mind
Yeah, this could be heaven for everyone
This world could be fed, this world could be fun
This could be heaven for everyone, yeah
This world should be free, this world could be one
We should bring love to our daughters and sons
Love, love, love, this could be heaven for everyone
You know that
This could be heaven for everyone
This could be heaven for everyone
Listen - what people do to their souls
They take their lives - destroy their goals
Their basic pride and dignity
Is stripped and torn and shown to pity
When this should be heaven for everyone