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Thread: Favorite poems and quotations.

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    Default Favorite poems and quotations.

    Not sure if there is such a thread but if not, there ought to be one so here it is. Post away brave cadets.
    You and I have an appointment at the end of the world.



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    "Make your own Bible. Select and collect all the words and sentences that in all your readings have been to you like the blast of a trumpet." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

    "He has sat on the fence so long that the iron has entered his soul." - David Lloyd George

    "People are like dice. We throw ourselves in the direction of our choosing." - Jean-Paul Sartre

    "The woods are lovely, dark, and deep, But I have promises to keep,
    And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep." - Robert Frost

    "Though I am often in the depths of misery, there is still calmness, pure harmony and music inside me." - Vincent van Gogh

    "Knowledge is not for knowing: knowledge is for cutting." - Michel Foucault

    "We can only learn so much and live." - Thomas Harris

    "Dreams do not lack reality–they are real patterns of information." - Richard Doyle

    "Enlightenment is not found in the light, but illuminating in the darkness." - Carl Jung

    "There is no God, Nature sufficeth unto herself; in no wise hath she need of an author." - Marquis de Sade

    "And then she would smile, to show me how, and it was the saddest smile I ever saw." - Charles Bukowski

    "You’'re acting healthy so well that everyone believes you. Everyone but me, because I know how rotten you are. - Ingmar Bergman

    "Flowers are restful to look at. They have neither emotions nor conflicts." - Sigmund Freud

    "Say unto thine own heart: 'I am Mine own Redeemer'." - Anton LaVey

    "What you are basically, deep, deep down, far, far in, is simply the fabric and structure of existence itself." - Alan Watts

    "Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires." - William Shakespeare

    "Bellison uncorked a flood of horrible profanity, which, translated, meant 'This is extremely unusual'." - Herman Wouk

    "But I don't want comfort. I want poetry. I want danger. I want freedom. I want goodness. I want sin." - Aldous Huxley

    "Every normal man must be tempted, at times, to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats." - H.L. Mencken

    "They call you heartless; but you have a heart and I love you for being ashamed to show it." - Friedrich Nietzsche

    "Yes: I am a dreamer. For a dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world" - Oscar Wilde

    "He drew a circle that left me out… heretic, rebel, a thing to flout. But love and I had the wit to win. I drew a circle that took him in." - Edwin Markham

    "What if I slept a little more and forgot about all this nonsense." - Franz Kafka
    You and I have an appointment at the end of the world.



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    Quote Originally Posted by Within View Post
    "Make your own Bible. Select and collect all the words and sentences that in all your readings have been to you like the blast of a trumpet." - Ralph Waldo Emerson
    Posting this quote in this thread is a pretty meta thing to do.
    „Man can do what he wants but he cannot want what he wants.“
    – Arthur Schopenhauer

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    Quote Originally Posted by Pa3s View Post
    Posting this quote in this thread is a pretty meta thing to do.
    I know right. It's the beginning of my book. In which I'm doing just that.
    You and I have an appointment at the end of the world.



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    thread

    "Something inexpressively lovely and wonderful advances through the crystal, nearer, nearer. And, oh, inexpressively terrifying. For if it were to touch you, if it were to seize you and engulf you, you'd die; all the regular, habitual daily part of you would die … one would have to begin living arduously in the quiet, arduously in some strange, unheard of manner."


     






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    With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
    England mourns for her dead across the sea.
    Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
    Fallen in the cause of the free.

    Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal
    Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.
    There is music in the midst of desolation
    And a glory that shines upon our tears.

    They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
    Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
    They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
    They fell with their faces to the foe.

    They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
    Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
    At the going down of the sun and in the morning
    We will remember them.

    They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
    They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
    They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
    They sleep beyond England's foam.

    But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
    Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
    To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
    As the stars are known to the Night;

    As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
    Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,
    As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
    To the end, to the end, they remain.

    Now this is a story all about how, my type got changed, turned upside down. Just wait for a minute and watch chatbox right there, & I'll tell how Gem became the moderator with blue hair.

    In typology central friended and praised, on the picture thread was where she spent most her days. Chilling out, selfies, relaxing all cool, And all typing some people and getting them schooled.

    When a couple of girls who were up to no good, Started annoying her & her friends in the forumhood, She got in one little flame war & got pissed off & said 'I'm moving in with that exboyfriend in the forum with the socionics toffs.

    So Gem pulls up to the forum for a year without being a hater, And yells to typocentral 'Yo creeps! Smell Ya later', Became a mod in her kingdom she was finally there, To sit on her throne as the mod with blue hair.

    InvisibruJim

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    Now it's day and night the irons clang, and like poor galley slaves
    We toil and toil, and when we die, must fill dishonored graves
    But some dark night, when everything is silent in the town
    I'll shoot those tyrants one and all, I'll gun the flogger down
    I'll give the land a little shock, remember what I say,
    And they'll yet regret they've sent Jim Jones in chains to Botany Bay.

    "Jim Jones", Traditional
    A revolution is not a dinner party, or writing an essay, or painting a picture, or doing embroidery; It cannot be so refined, so leisurely and gentle, so temperate, kind, courteous, restrained and magnanimous. A revolution is an insurrection, an act of violence by which one class overthrows the other. Mao Tse Tung

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    The world is blue as an orange
    No error the words do not lie
    They no longer allow you to sing
    In the tower of kisses agreement
    The madness the love
    She her mouth of alliance
    All the secrets all the smiles
    Or what dress of indulgence
    To believe in quite naked.
    The wasps flourish greenly
    Dawn goes by round her neck
    A necklace of windows
    You are all the solar joys
    All the sun of this earth
    On the roads of your beauty. (Paul Éluard)




    Green, how I want you green.
    Green wind. Green branches.
    The ship out on the sea
    and the horse on the mountain.
    With the shade around her waist
    she dreams on her balcony,
    green flesh, her hair green,
    with eyes of cold silver.
    Green, how I want you green.
    Under the gypsy moon,
    all things are watching her
    and she cannot see them.

    Green, how I want you green.
    Big hoarfrost stars
    come with the fish of shadow
    that opens the road of dawn.
    The fig tree rubs its wind
    with the sandpaper of its branches,
    and the forest, cunning cat,
    bristles its brittle fibers.
    But who will come? And from where?
    She is still on her balcony
    green flesh, her hair green,
    dreaming in the bitter sea.

    --My friend, I want to trade
    my horse for her house,
    my saddle for her mirror,
    my knife for her blanket.
    My friend, I come bleeding
    from the gates of Cabra.
    --If it were possible, my boy,
    I'd help you fix that trade.
    But now I am not I,
    nor is my house now my house.
    --My friend, I want to die
    decently in my bed.
    Of iron, if that's possible,
    with blankets of fine chambray.
    Don't you see the wound I have
    from my chest up to my throat?
    --Your white shirt has grown
    thirsy dark brown roses.
    Your blood oozes and flees a
    round the corners of your sash.
    But now I am not I,
    nor is my house now my house.
    --Let me climb up, at least,
    up to the high balconies;
    Let me climb up! Let me,
    up to the green balconies.
    Railings of the moon
    through which the water rumbles.

    Now the two friends climb up,
    up to the high balconies.
    Leaving a trail of blood.
    Leaving a trail of teardrops.
    Tin bell vines
    were trembling on the roofs.
    A thousand crystal tambourines
    struck at the dawn light.

    Green, how I want you green,
    green wind, green branches.
    The two friends climbed up.
    The stiff wind left
    in their mouths, a strange taste
    of bile, of mint, and of basil
    My friend, where is she--tell me--
    where is your bitter girl?
    How many times she waited for you!
    How many times would she wait for you,
    cool face, black hair,
    on this green balcony!
    Over the mouth of the cistern
    the gypsy girl was swinging,
    green flesh, her hair green,
    with eyes of cold silver.
    An icicle of moon
    holds her up above the water.
    The night became intimate
    like a little plaza.
    Drunken "Guardias Civiles"
    were pounding on the door.
    Green, how I want you green.
    Green wind. Green branches.
    The ship out on the sea.
    And the horse on the mountain. (Federico García Lorca)
    Last edited by Amber; 11-28-2014 at 10:40 AM.

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    Fool: The reason why the seven stars are no more than seven is a pretty reason.
    King Lear: Because they are not eight?
    Fool: Yes, indeed: thou wouldst make a good fool.

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    Copy and paste from my Facebook 'Favorite Quotations' list. May add more later.


    “Some tourists think Amsterdam is a city of sin, but in truth it is a city of freedom. And in freedom, most people find sin.” - John Green

    “Everyone is a genius, but if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing it’s stupid.” - Albert Einstein

    “You can have peace. Or you can have freedom. Don't ever count on having both at once.” - Robert A. Heinlein

    “Disobedience is the true foundation of liberty. The obedient must be slaves.” - Henry David Thoreau

    The question is not, "Can they reason" nor, "Can they talk," but rather, "Can they suffer?" - Jeremy Bentham

    "There are more things to alarm us than to harm us, and we suffer more often in apprehension than reality." - Seneca

    “Music expresses that which cannot be put into words and that which cannot remain silent” - Victor Hugo

    "We're all going to die, all of us, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other but it doesn't. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities, we are eaten up by nothing." - Charles Bukowski

    "A human being is a part of a whole, called by us 'universe', a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest... a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty." - Albert Einstein

    "Nothing was ever in tune. People just blindly grabbed at whatever there was: communism, health foods, zen, surfing, ballet, hypnotism, group encounters, orgies, biking, herbs, Catholicism, weight-lifting, travel, withdrawal, vegetarianism, India, painting, writing, sculpting, composing, conducting, backpacking, yoga, copulating, gambling, drinking, hanging around, frozen yogurt, Beethoven, Back, Buddha, Christ, TM, H, carrot juice, suicide, handmade suits, jet travel, New York City, and then it all evaporated and fell apart. People had to find things to do while waiting to die. I guess it was nice to have a choice." - Charles Bukowski

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    Unyielding, raged and free

    Unyielding, raged and free,
    burn, fire, burn on, please...
    Decembers tend to be
    replaced by Januaries.

    We've anything at all:
    smiles, joys and everything,
    one common moon for all,
    one summer and one spring.

    We'd live and go to grass
    then, come what may, we will
    for all the wrongs of ours
    stand trial by ordeal.

    We do not care, since
    we know: when life is gone
    for all of our sins
    the reckoning is one.

    Unyielding, raged and free,
    burn, fire, burn on, please...
    Decembers have to be
    replaced by Januaries.

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    The definition of insanity in Texas is so insane that it's impossible to be insane in Texas

    Malcolm McDowell


    Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage

    Lao Tzu


    Society bristles with enigmas which look hard to solve. It is a perfect maze of intrigue

    Honore de Balzac


    Politeness is to human nature what warmth is to wax

    Arthur Schopenhauer


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    The Tiger-Woman came to me
    When dusk was close and men were dull.
    She beckoned from the jungle-path;
    I followed, dreaming, fanciful.

    The Tiger-Woman’s face is pale,
    But oh, her speaking eyes are dark.
    No beast can move so lithe as she
    Beside the matted river’s mark.

    The jungle is a fearsome place
    For men who hunt, and men who slay,
    But I was not afraid to go
    Where Tiger-Woman led the way.

    The Tiger-Woman’s lips are thin;
    Her teeth are like the Tiger’s teeth.
    Yet her soft hands are woman’s hands,
    And oh, the blood beats warm beneath.

    She led me to a little glade,—
    The creepers with the moon inwove,—
    And two great striped beasts leaped up
    And fawned upon her breast in love.

    The Tiger-Woman’s voice was sweet;
    I hearkened and was not afraid.
    She stroked the Tigers’ fearful jaws;
    Upon their heads my hands I laid.

    And all the jungle things drew near,
    And all the leaves a music made
    Like spirits chanting in a choir
    Along the bamboo colonnade.

    Too sweet for human harps to sound,
    It touched my blood, it fired my heart
    The Tiger-Woman sang, and I
    Sang too, and understood her art.

    She kissed the Tiger’s snarling mouth.
    She kissed—I marveled that she could—
    But now her lips were warm on mine;
    I cared not they were dabbed with blood.

    What if the traveller shuns my hut,
    What if the world forgets to be,
    What if I have the Tiger’s heart,—
    The Tiger-Woman loveth me!

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    this writer .

    “Our great mistake is to try to exact from each person virtues which he does not possess, and to neglect the cultivation of those which he has.”

    “The mask, given time, comes to be the face itself”


    “Everything turns out to be valuable that one does for one’s self without thought of profit.”

    Marguerite Yourcenar

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    The girl saw it too, but, instead of crying aloud with terror, said quietly, "That is Quiquern. What comes after?"

    "He will speak to me," said Kotuko; but the snow-knife trembled in his hand as he spoke, because however much a man may believe that he is a friend of strange and ugly spirits, he seldom likes to be taken quite at his word. Quiquern, too, is the phantom of a gigantic toothless dog without any hair, who is supposed to live in the far North, and to wander about the country just before things are going to happen. They may be pleasant or unpleasant things, but not even the sorcerers care to speak about Quiquern. He makes the dogs go mad. Like the Spirit-Bear, he has several extra pairs of legs,--six or eight,--and this...

    "Something inexpressively lovely and wonderful advances through the crystal, nearer, nearer. And, oh, inexpressively terrifying. For if it were to touch you, if it were to seize you and engulf you, you'd die; all the regular, habitual daily part of you would die … one would have to begin living arduously in the quiet, arduously in some strange, unheard of manner."


     






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    why must itself up every of a park

    --------- ---------------------------Edward Estlin Cummings (October 14, 1894 – September 3, 1962)

    why must itself up every of a park
    anus stick some quote statue unquote to
    prove that a hero equals any jerk
    who was afraid to dare to answer "no"?
    quote citizens unquote might otherwise
    forget(to err is human;to forgive
    divine)that if the quote state unquote says
    "kill" killing is an act of christian love.
    "Nothing" in 1944 AD
    "can stand against the argument of mil
    itary necessity"(generalissimo e)
    and echo answers "there is no appeal
    from reason"(freud)--you pays your money and
    you doesn't take your choice. Ain't freedom grand

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    I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape—the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn’t show. ” - ANDREW WYETH
    Last edited by Nymeria; 04-06-2015 at 10:35 AM.

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    "TWELVE o’clock.
    Along the reaches of the street
    Held in a lunar synthesis,
    Whispering lunar incantations
    Dissolve the floors of memory
    And all its clear relations
    Its divisions and precisions,
    Every street lamp that I pass
    Beats like a fatalistic drum,
    And through the spaces of the dark
    Midnight shakes the memory
    As a madman shakes a dead geranium."

    "Something inexpressively lovely and wonderful advances through the crystal, nearer, nearer. And, oh, inexpressively terrifying. For if it were to touch you, if it were to seize you and engulf you, you'd die; all the regular, habitual daily part of you would die … one would have to begin living arduously in the quiet, arduously in some strange, unheard of manner."


     






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    The Hollow Men

    --- T.S.Eliot

    Mistah Kurtz-he dead
    A penny for the Old Guy



    I

    We are the hollow men
    We are the stuffed men
    Leaning together
    Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
    Our dried voices, when
    We whisper together
    Are quiet and meaningless
    As wind in dry grass
    Or rats' feet over broken glass
    In our dry cellar

    Shape without form, shade without colour,
    Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

    Those who have crossed
    With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
    Remember us-if at all-not as lost
    Violent souls, but only
    As the hollow men
    The stuffed men.


    II

    Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
    In death's dream kingdom
    These do not appear:
    There, the eyes are
    Sunlight on a broken column
    There, is a tree swinging
    And voices are
    In the wind's singing
    More distant and more solemn
    Than a fading star.

    Let me be no nearer
    In death's dream kingdom
    Let me also wear
    Such deliberate disguises
    Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
    In a field
    Behaving as the wind behaves
    No nearer-

    Not that final meeting
    In the twilight kingdom


    III

    This is the dead land
    This is cactus land
    Here the stone images
    Are raised, here they receive
    The supplication of a dead man's hand
    Under the twinkle of a fading star.

    Is it like this
    In death's other kingdom
    Waking alone
    At the hour when we are
    Trembling with tenderness
    Lips that would kiss
    Form prayers to broken stone.


    IV

    The eyes are not here
    There are no eyes here
    In this valley of dying stars
    In this hollow valley
    This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

    In this last of meeting places
    We grope together
    And avoid speech
    Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

    Sightless, unless
    The eyes reappear
    As the perpetual star
    Multifoliate rose
    Of death's twilight kingdom
    The hope only
    Of empty men.


    V

    Here we go round the prickly pear
    Prickly pear prickly pear
    Here we go round the prickly pear
    At five o'clock in the morning.


    Between the idea
    And the reality
    Between the motion
    And the act
    Falls the Shadow
    For Thine is the Kingdom

    Between the conception
    And the creation
    Between the emotion
    And the response
    Falls the Shadow
    Life is very long

    Between the desire
    And the spasm
    Between the potency
    And the existence
    Between the essence
    And the descent
    Falls the Shadow
    For Thine is the Kingdom

    For Thine is
    Life is
    For Thine is the

    This is the way the world ends
    This is the way the world ends
    This is the way the world ends
    Not with a bang but a whimper.

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    "like brave and good men, the more trouble they suffer the stronger they are. Day and night, week after week, the trade-wind blows upon them, hurling the waves against them in furious surf, knocking off great lumps of coral, grinding them to powder, throwing them over the reef into the shallow water inside. But the heavier the surf beats upon them, the stronger the polypes outside grow, repairing their broken houses, and building up fresh coral on the dead coral below, because it is in the fresh sea-water that beats upon the surf that they find most lime with which to build. And as they build they form a barrier against the surf, inside of which, in water still as glass, the weaker and more delicate things can grow in safety..."

    "Something inexpressively lovely and wonderful advances through the crystal, nearer, nearer. And, oh, inexpressively terrifying. For if it were to touch you, if it were to seize you and engulf you, you'd die; all the regular, habitual daily part of you would die … one would have to begin living arduously in the quiet, arduously in some strange, unheard of manner."


     






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    Frost at Midnight


    BY SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGEThe Frost performs its secret ministry,
    Unhelped by any wind. The owlet's cry
    Came loud—and hark, again! loud as before.
    The inmates of my cottage, all at rest,
    Have left me to that solitude, which suits
    Abstruser musings: save that at my side
    My cradled infant slumbers peacefully.
    'Tis calm indeed! so calm, that it disturbs
    And vexes meditation with its strange
    And extreme silentness. Sea, hill, and wood,
    This populous village! Sea, and hill, and wood,
    With all the numberless goings-on of life,
    Inaudible as dreams! the thin blue flame
    Lies on my low-burnt fire, and quivers not;
    Only that film, which fluttered on the grate,

    Still flutters there, the sole unquiet thing.
    Methinks, its motion in this hush of nature
    Gives it dim sympathies with me who live,
    Making it a companionable form,
    Whose puny flaps and freaks the idling Spirit
    By its own moods interprets, every where
    Echo or mirror seeking of itself,
    And makes a toy of Thought.

    But O! how oft,
    How oft, at school, with most believing mind,
    Presageful, have I gazed upon the bars,
    To watch that fluttering stranger ! and as oft
    With unclosed lids, already had I dreamt
    Of my sweet birth-place, and the old church-tower,
    Whose bells, the poor man's only music, rang
    From morn to evening, all the hot Fair-day,
    So sweetly, that they stirred and haunted me
    With a wild pleasure, falling on mine ear
    Most like articulate sounds of things to come!
    So gazed I, till the soothing things, I dreamt,
    Lulled me to sleep, and sleep prolonged my dreams!
    And so I brooded all the following morn,
    Awed by the stern preceptor's face, mine eye
    Fixed with mock study on my swimming book:
    Save if the door half opened, and I snatched
    A hasty glance, and still my heart leaped up,
    For still I hoped to see the stranger's face,
    Townsman, or aunt, or sister more beloved,
    My play-mate when we both were clothed alike!

    Dear Babe, that sleepest cradled by my side,
    Whose gentle breathings, heard in this deep calm,
    Fill up the intersperséd vacancies
    And momentary pauses of the thought!
    My babe so beautiful! it thrills my heart
    With tender gladness, thus to look at thee,
    And think that thou shalt learn far other lore,
    And in far other scenes! For I was reared
    In the great city, pent 'mid cloisters dim,
    And saw nought lovely but the sky and stars.
    But thou, my babe! shalt wander like a breeze
    By lakes and sandy shores, beneath the crags
    Of ancient mountain, and beneath the clouds,
    Which image in their bulk both lakes and shores
    And mountain crags: so shalt thou see and hear
    The lovely shapes and sounds intelligible
    Of that eternal language, which thy God
    Utters, who from eternity doth teach
    Himself in all, and all things in himself.
    Great universal Teacher! he shall mould
    Thy spirit, and by giving make it ask.

    Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,
    Whether the summer clothe the general earth
    With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing
    Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch
    Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch
    Smokes in the sun-thaw; whether the eave-drops fall
    Heard only in the trances of the blast,
    Or if the secret ministry of frost
    Shall hang them up in silent icicles,
    Quietly shining to the quiet Moon.



  22. #22

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    “Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came”
    Robert Browning (1812–89)
    MY 1 first thought was, he lied in every word,
    That hoary cripple, with malicious eye
    Askance to watch the working of his lie
    On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford
    Suppression of the glee, that purs’d and scor’d 5
    Its edge, at one more victim gain’d thereby.
    What else should he be set for, with his staff?
    What, save to waylay with his lies, ensnare
    All travellers who might find him posted there,
    And ask the road? I guess’d what skull-like laugh 10
    Would break, what crutch ’gin write my epitaph
    For pastime in the dusty thoroughfare,
    If at his counsel I should turn aside
    Into that ominous tract which, all agree,
    Hides the Dark Tower. Yet acquiescingly 15
    I did turn as he pointed: neither pride
    Nor hope rekindling at the end descried,
    So much as gladness that some end might be.
    For, what with my whole world-wide wandering,
    What with my search drawn out thro’ years, my hope 20
    Dwindled into a ghost not fit to cope
    With that obstreperous joy success would bring,—
    I hardly tried now to rebuke the spring
    My heart made, finding failure in its scope.
    As when a sick man very near to death 25
    Seems dead indeed, and feels begin and end
    The tears and takes the farewell of each friend,
    And hears one bid the other go, draw breath
    Freelier outside, (“since all is o’er,” he saith,
    “And the blow fallen no grieving can amend;”) 30
    While some discuss if near the other graves
    Be room enough for this, and when a day
    Suits best for carrying the corpse away,
    With care about the banners, scarves and staves,
    And still the man hears all, and only craves 35
    He may not shame such tender love and stay.
    Thus, I had so long suffer’d, in this quest,
    Heard failure prophesied so oft, been writ
    So many times among “The Band”—to wit,
    The knights who to the Dark Tower’s search address’d 40
    Their steps—that just to fail as they, seem’d best.
    And all the doubt was now—should I be fit?
    So, quiet as despair, I turn’d from him,
    That hateful cripple, out of his highway
    Into the path the pointed. All the day 45
    Had been a dreary one at best, and dim
    Was settling to its close, yet shot one grim
    Red leer to see the plain catch its estray.
    For mark! no sooner was I fairly found
    Pledged to the plain, after a pace or two, 50
    Than, pausing to throw backward a last view
    O’er the safe road, ’t was gone; gray plain all round:
    Nothing but plain to the horizon’s bound.
    I might go on; nought else remain’d to do.
    So, on I went. I think I never saw 55
    Such starv’d ignoble nature; nothing throve:
    For flowers—as well expect a cedar grove!
    But cockle, spurge, according to their law
    Might propagate their kind, with none to awe,
    You ’d think; a burr had been a treasure trove. 60
    No! penury, inertness and grimace,
    In the strange sort, were the land’s portion. “See
    Or shut your eyes,” said Nature peevishly,
    “It nothing skills: I cannot help my case:
    ’T is the Last Judgment’s fire must cure this place, 65
    Calcine its clods and set my prisoners free.”
    If there push’d any ragged thistle=stalk
    Above its mates, the head was chopp’d; the bents
    Were jealous else. What made those holes and rents
    In the dock’s harsh swarth leaves, bruis’d as to baulk 70
    All hope of greenness? ’T is a brute must walk
    Pashing their life out, with a brute’s intents.
    As for the grass, it grew as scant as hair
    In leprosy; thin dry blades prick’d the mud
    Which underneath look’d kneaded up with blood. 75
    One stiff blind horse, his every bone a-stare,
    Stood stupefied, however he came there:
    Thrust out past service from the devil’s stud!
    Alive? he might be dead for aught I know,
    With that red, gaunt and collop’d neck a-strain, 80
    And shut eyes underneath the rusty mane;
    Seldom went such grotesqueness with such woe;
    I never saw a brute I hated so;
    He must be wicked to deserve such pain.
    I shut my eyes and turn’d them on my heart. 85
    As a man calls for wine before he fights,
    I ask’d one draught of earlier, happier sights,
    Ere fitly I could hope to play my part.
    Think first, fight afterwards—the soldier’s art:
    One taste of the old time sets all to rights. 90
    Not it! I fancied Cuthbert’s reddening face
    Beneath its garniture of curly gold,
    Dear fellow, till I almost felt him fold
    An arm in mine to fix me to the place,
    That way he us’d. Alas, one night’s disgrace! 95
    Out went my heart’s new fire and left it cold.
    Giles then, the soul of honor—there he stands
    Frank as ten years ago when knighted first.
    What honest man should dare (he said) he durst.
    Good—but the scene shifts—faugh! what hangman hands 100
    Pin to his breast a parchment? His own bands
    Read it. Poor traitor, spit upon and curst!
    Better this present than a past like that;
    Back therefore to my darkening path again!
    No sound, no sight as far as eye could strain. 105
    Will the night send a howlet of a bat?
    I asked: when something on the dismal flat
    Came to arrest my thoughts and change their train.
    A sudden little river cross’d my path
    As unexpected as a serpent comes. 110
    No sluggish tide congenial to the glooms;
    This, as it froth’d by, might have been a bath
    For the fiend’s glowing hoof—to see the wrath
    Of its black eddy bespate with flakes and spumes.
    So petty yet so spiteful All along, 115
    Low scrubby alders kneel’d down over it;
    Drench’d willows flung them headlong in a fit
    Of mute despair, a suicidal throng:
    The river which had done them all the wrong,
    Whate’er that was, roll’d by, deterr’d no whit. 120
    Which, while I forded,—good saints, how I fear’d
    To set my foot upon a dead man’s cheek,
    Each step, or feel the spear I thrust to seek
    For hollows, tangled in his hair or beard!
    —It may have been a water-rat I spear’d, 125
    But, ugh! it sounded like a baby’s shriek.
    Glad was I when I reach’d the other bank.
    Now for a better country. Vain presage!
    Who were the strugglers, what war did they wage
    Whose savage trample thus could pad the dank 130
    Soil to a plash? Toads in a poison’d tank,
    Or wild cats in a red-hot iron cage—
    The fight must so have seem’d in that fell cirque.
    What penn’d them there, with all the plain to choose?
    No foot-print leading to that horrid mews, 135
    None out of it. Mad brewage set to work
    Their brains, no doubt, like galley-slaves the Turk
    Pits for his pastime, Christians against Jews.
    And more than that—a furlong on—why, there!
    What bad use was that engine for, that wheel, 140
    Or brake, not wheel—that harrow fit to reel
    Men’s bodies out like silk? with all the air
    Of Tophet’s tool, on earth left unaware,
    Or brought to sharpen its rusty teeth of steel.
    Then came a bit of stubb’d ground, once a wood, 145
    Next a marsh, it would seem, and now mere earth
    Desperate and done with; (so a fool finds mirth,
    Makes a thing and then mars it, till his mood
    Changes and off he goes!) within a rood—
    Bog, clay, and rubble, sand and stark black dearth. 150
    Now blotches rankling, color’d gay and grim,
    Now patches where some leanness of the soil’s
    Broke into moss or substances like thus;
    Then came some palsied oak, a cleft in him
    Like a distorted mouth that splits its rim 155
    Gaping at death, and dies while it recoils.
    And just as far as ever from the end,
    Nought in the distance but the evening, nought
    To point my footstep further! At the thought,
    A great black bird, Apollyon’s bosom-friend, 160
    Sail’d past, nor beat his wide wing dragon-penn’d
    That brush’d my cap—perchance the guide I sought.
    For, looking up, aware I somehow grew,
    Spite of the dusk, the plain had given place
    All round to mountains—with such name to grace 165
    Mere ugly heights and heaps now stolen in view.
    How thus they had surpris’d me,—solve it, you!
    How to get from them was no clearer case.
    Yet half I seem’d to recognize some trick
    Of mischief happen’d to me, God knows when— 170
    In a bad perhaps. Here ended, then,
    Progress this way. When, in the very nick
    Of giving up, one time more, came a click
    As when a trap shuts—you ’re inside the den.
    Burningly it came on me all at once, 175
    This was the place! those two hills on the right,
    Couch’d like two bulls lock’d horn in horn in fight,
    While, to the left, a tall scalp’d mountain … Dunce,
    Dotard, a-dozing at the very nonce,
    After a life spent training for the sight! 180
    What in the midst lay but the Tower itself?
    The round squat turret, blind as the fool’s heart,
    Built of brown stone, without a counter-part
    In the whole world. The tempest’s mocking elf
    Points to the shipman thus the unseen shelf 185
    He strikes on, only when the timbers start.
    Not see? because of night perhaps?—Why, day
    Came back again for that! before it left,
    The dying sunset kindled through a cleft:
    The hills, like giants at a hunting, lay, 190
    Chin upon hand, to see the game at bay,—
    “Now stab and end the creature—to the heft!”
    Not hear? when noise was everywhere! it toll’d
    Increasing like a bell. Names in my ears
    Of all the lost adventurers my peers,— 195
    How such a one was strong, and such was bold,
    And such was fortunate, yet each of old
    Lost, lost! one moment knell’d the woe of years.
    There they stood, ranged along the hill-sides, met
    To view the last of me, a living frame 200
    For one more picture! in a sheet of flame
    I saw them and I knew them all. And yet
    Dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set,
    And blew “Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came.”


  23. #23
    Queen of the Damned Aylen's Avatar
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    "Love eternal.
    Lust infernal.
    Bleeding, burning.
    Needing, yearning."

    "Something inexpressively lovely and wonderful advances through the crystal, nearer, nearer. And, oh, inexpressively terrifying. For if it were to touch you, if it were to seize you and engulf you, you'd die; all the regular, habitual daily part of you would die … one would have to begin living arduously in the quiet, arduously in some strange, unheard of manner."


     






  24. #24
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    “Always! That is a dreadful word. It makes me shudder when I hear it. Women are so fond of using it. They spoil every romance by trying to make it last forever. It is a meaningless word, too. The only difference between a caprice and a life-long passion is that the caprice lasts a little longer.” ― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray(I just find this quote kind of amusing, I guess)

    Fire and Ice
    Some say the world will end in fire,
    Some say in ice.
    From what I’ve tasted of desire
    I hold with those who favor fire.
    But if it had to perish twice,
    I think I know enough of hate
    To say that for destruction ice
    Is also great
    And would suffice.

    Nothing Gold Can Stay
    Nature’s first green is gold,
    Her hardest hue to hold.
    Her early leaf’s a flower;
    But only so an hour.
    Then leaf subsides to leaf.
    So Eden sank to grief,
    So dawn goes down to day.
    Nothing gold can stay.
    Robert Frost, 1874 - 1963






  25. #25
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    If you can keep your head when all about you
    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
    If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
    But make allowance for their doubting too;
    If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
    Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
    Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

    If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
    If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
    If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
    And treat those two impostors just the same;
    If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
    Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
    And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

    If you can make one heap of all your winnings
    And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
    And lose, and start again at your beginnings
    And never breathe a word about your loss;
    If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
    To serve your turn long after they are gone,
    And so hold on when there is nothing in you
    Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

    If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
    Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
    If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
    If all men count with you, but none too much;
    If you can fill the unforgiving minute
    With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
    Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
    And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

    Source: A Choice of Kipling's Verse (1943)

    "Something inexpressively lovely and wonderful advances through the crystal, nearer, nearer. And, oh, inexpressively terrifying. For if it were to touch you, if it were to seize you and engulf you, you'd die; all the regular, habitual daily part of you would die … one would have to begin living arduously in the quiet, arduously in some strange, unheard of manner."


     






  26. #26
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    “But yester-night I prayed aloud
    In anguish and in agony,
    Up-starting from the fiendish crowd
    Of shapes and thoughts that tortured me:
    A lurid light, a trampling throng,
    Sense of intolerable wrong,
    And whom I scorned, those only strong!
    Thirst of revenge, the powerless will
    Still baffled, and yet burning still!
    Desire with loathing strangely mixed
    On wild or hateful objects fixed.
    Fantastic passions! maddening brawl!
    And shame and terror over all!
    Deeds to be hid which were not hid,
    Which all confused I could not know
    Whether I suffered, or I did:
    For all seemed guilt, remorse or woe,
    My own or others still the same
    Life-stifling fear, soul-stifling shame.”

    "Something inexpressively lovely and wonderful advances through the crystal, nearer, nearer. And, oh, inexpressively terrifying. For if it were to touch you, if it were to seize you and engulf you, you'd die; all the regular, habitual daily part of you would die … one would have to begin living arduously in the quiet, arduously in some strange, unheard of manner."


     






  27. #27
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    "Something inexpressively lovely and wonderful advances through the crystal, nearer, nearer. And, oh, inexpressively terrifying. For if it were to touch you, if it were to seize you and engulf you, you'd die; all the regular, habitual daily part of you would die … one would have to begin living arduously in the quiet, arduously in some strange, unheard of manner."


     






  28. #28
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    Break, break, break,
    On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
    And I would that my tongue could utter
    The thoughts that arise in me.

    O, well for the fisherman's boy,
    That he shouts with his sister at play!
    O, well for the sailor lad,
    That he sings in his boat on the bay!

    And the stately ships go on
    To their haven under the hill;
    But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand,
    And the sound of a voice that is still!

    Break, break, break
    At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!
    But the tender grace of a day that is dead
    Will never come back to me.

    -Alfred Lord Tennyson
    Last edited by poops magoops; 10-19-2015 at 05:04 PM.

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    وزير‎‎ lungs's Avatar
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    'if you must quote me, remember
    i said that love heals from inside'
    - yusef komunyakaa

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  31. #31
    Humanist Maritsa's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by poops magoops View Post
    Break, break, break,
    On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
    And I would that my tongue could utter
    The thoughts that arise in me.

    O, well for the fisherman's boy,
    That he shouts with his sister at play!
    O, well for the sailor lad,
    That he sings in his boat on the bay!

    And the stately ships go on
    To their haven under the hill;
    But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand,
    And the sound of a voice that is still!

    Break, break, break
    At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!
    But the tender grace of a day that is dead
    Will never come back to me.

    -Alfred Lord Tennyson
    What would you guess his type?
    -
    Dual type (as per tcaudilllg)
    Enneagram 2w1sw(1w9) helps others to live up to their own standards of what a good person is and is very behind the scenes in the process.
    Tritype 1-2-6 stacking sp/sx


    I'm constantly looking to align the real with the ideal.I've been more oriented toward being overly idealistic by expecting the real to match the ideal. My thinking side is dominent. The result is that sometimes I can be overly impersonal or self-centered in my approach, not being understanding of others in the process and simply thinking "you should do this" or "everyone should follor this rule"..."regardless of how they feel or where they're coming from"which just isn't a good attitude to have. It is a way, though, to give oneself an artificial sense of self-justification. LSE

    Best description of functions:
    http://socionicsstudy.blogspot.com/2...functions.html

  32. #32
    poops magoops's Avatar
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    LII, maybe. He did wear a pretty unkempt beard.

  33. #33
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    Quote Originally Posted by poops magoops View Post
    LII, maybe. He did wear a pretty unkempt beard.
    Yes I agree that he emphasized on thought. So much so that I don't get any feeling like statements such as "it made me sad"
    -
    Dual type (as per tcaudilllg)
    Enneagram 2w1sw(1w9) helps others to live up to their own standards of what a good person is and is very behind the scenes in the process.
    Tritype 1-2-6 stacking sp/sx


    I'm constantly looking to align the real with the ideal.I've been more oriented toward being overly idealistic by expecting the real to match the ideal. My thinking side is dominent. The result is that sometimes I can be overly impersonal or self-centered in my approach, not being understanding of others in the process and simply thinking "you should do this" or "everyone should follor this rule"..."regardless of how they feel or where they're coming from"which just isn't a good attitude to have. It is a way, though, to give oneself an artificial sense of self-justification. LSE

    Best description of functions:
    http://socionicsstudy.blogspot.com/2...functions.html

  34. #34
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    We Lived happily During the War


    And when they bombed other people’s houses, we

    protested
    but not enough, we opposed them but not

    enough. I was
    in my bed, around my bed America

    was falling: invisible house by invisible house by invisible house.

    I took a chair outside and watched the sun.

    In the sixth month
    of a disastrous reign in the house of money

    in the street of money in the city of money in the country of money,
    our great country of money, we (forgive us)

    lived happily during the war.

    .
    by Ilya Kaminsky

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    And the soul, if she is to know herself,
    must look inside the soul
    —Plato

    And the Soul

    And the soul, if she is to know herself
    must look into the soul and find
    what kind of beast is hiding.

    And if it be a horse, open up the gate
    and let it run. And if it be a rabbit
    give it sand dunes to disappear in.

    And if it be a swan, create a mirror image,
    give it water. And if it be a badger
    grow a sloping woodland in your heart.

    And if it be a tick, let the blood flow
    until it’s sated. And if it be a fish
    there must be a river and a mountain.

    And if it be a cat, find some people
    to ignore, but if it be a wolf,
    you’ll know from its restless way

    of moving, if it be a wolf,
    throw back your head
    and let it howl.


    by Kim Moore

  36. #36
    Adam Strange's Avatar
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    ENTJ-1Te 8w7 sx/so
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    Second Fortune
    .
    Between what is and what is not
    we walked, the Huntress loosed a shot.

    Before and after, we were there –
    the arrow pierced but singing air.

    That, my love, was quite an art,
    to be together and apart

    yet we, transparent, without fear –
    what were we but singing air?
    .

    by Theo Dorgan

  37. #37
    Humanist Maritsa's Avatar
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    It would be nice if you guys would post what type you think these authors are
    -
    Dual type (as per tcaudilllg)
    Enneagram 2w1sw(1w9) helps others to live up to their own standards of what a good person is and is very behind the scenes in the process.
    Tritype 1-2-6 stacking sp/sx


    I'm constantly looking to align the real with the ideal.I've been more oriented toward being overly idealistic by expecting the real to match the ideal. My thinking side is dominent. The result is that sometimes I can be overly impersonal or self-centered in my approach, not being understanding of others in the process and simply thinking "you should do this" or "everyone should follor this rule"..."regardless of how they feel or where they're coming from"which just isn't a good attitude to have. It is a way, though, to give oneself an artificial sense of self-justification. LSE

    Best description of functions:
    http://socionicsstudy.blogspot.com/2...functions.html

  38. #38
    Queen of the Damned Aylen's Avatar
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    “Yes,” he said. “But I wonder . . . I’ve a peculiar feeling that I may never see you again. It is as if I were one of those minor characters in a melodrama who gets shuffled offstage without ever learning how things turn out.”

    “I can appreciate the feeling,” I said. “My own role sometimes makes me want to strangle the author. But look at it this way: inside stories seldom live up to one’s expectations. Usually they are grubby little things, reducing down to the basest of motives when all is known. Conjectures and illusions are often the better possessions.”

    "Something inexpressively lovely and wonderful advances through the crystal, nearer, nearer. And, oh, inexpressively terrifying. For if it were to touch you, if it were to seize you and engulf you, you'd die; all the regular, habitual daily part of you would die … one would have to begin living arduously in the quiet, arduously in some strange, unheard of manner."


     






  39. #39
    وزير‎‎ lungs's Avatar
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    dear samantha i’m sorry we have to get a divorce i know that seems like an odd way to start a love letter but let me explain: it’s not you it sure as hell isn’t me it’s just human beings don’t love as well as insects do i love you.. far too much to let what we have be ruined by the failings of our species i saw the way you looked at the waiter last night i know you would never DO anything, you never do but.. i saw the way you looked at the waiter last night did you know that when a female fly accepts the pheromones put off by a male fly, it re-writes her brain, destroys the receptors that receive pheromones, sensing the change, the male fly does the same. when two flies love each other they do it so hard, they will never love anything else ever again. if either one of them dies before procreation can happen both sets of genetic code are lost forever. now that… is dedication. after Elizabeth and i broke up we spent three days dividing everything we had bought together like if i knew what pots were mine like if i knew which drapes were mine somehow the pain would go away this is not true after two praying mantises mate, the nervous system of the male begins to shut down while he still has control over his motor functions he flops onto his back, exposing his soft underbelly up to his lover like a gift she then proceeds to lovingly dice him into tiny cubes spooning every morsel into her mouth she wastes nothing even the exoskeleton goes she does this so that once their children are born she has something to regurgitate to feed them now that.. is selflessness i could never do that for you so i have a new plan i’m gonna leave you now i’m gonna spend the rest of my life committing petty injustices i hope you do the same i will jay walk at every opportunity i will steal things i could easily afford i will be rude to strangers i hope you do the same i hope reincarnation is real i hope our petty crimes are enough to cause us to be reborn as lesser creatures i hope we are reborn as flies so that we can love each other as hard as we were meant to.
    — Jared Singer, “An Entomologist’s Last Love Letter”

  40. #40
    Moderator Reficulris's Avatar
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    ""The statement "I usually X" is usually a lie" is not as contradictory as it seems" - Refi

    Quotation marks as intended and yes, shameless self quoting.

    Hah, logic humor


    But yeah, how often do you hear a Giraffe speak?!?

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