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Post by watershed on Nov 19, 2004 4:08:35 GMT -5
CHARLES LAMB: "You look wise. Pray correct that error"
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Post by diogenes on Nov 19, 2004 4:13:24 GMT -5
"Well, that is that," says Baba Fats, sitting back down on his stone, Facing another thousand years of talking to God alone. "It seems, Lord", says Fats, "it's always the same, old men or bright-eyed youth, It's always easier to sell them some poo than it is to give them the truth."
Shell Silverstein, the perfect high
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Post by Ghostbuster on Nov 19, 2004 5:01:55 GMT -5
Thomas Wolfe: "O lost, and by the wind grieved, ghost come back again!"
Edmund Spenser: "The gentle minds by gentle deeds is knowne"
H. L. Mencken: "Poverty is a soft pedal upon all branches of human activity"
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Post by ZELLEY on Nov 19, 2004 11:30:57 GMT -5
TENNYSON - "I am a part of all that I have met'
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Post by diogenes on Nov 19, 2004 12:08:24 GMT -5
I am Not of your race. I belong to the Mongol clan which brought the world a monstrous truth: the authenticity of life and the knowledge of rhythm...You do well to hem me in with the hundred thousand bayonets of Western enlightenment, for woe unto you if I leave the dark of my cave and set about in Ernest to chase off your clamourings. Blaise Cendrars
A personal favourite and has held for these boreds (mis-spell intentional)
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Post by diogenes on Nov 19, 2004 12:21:54 GMT -5
Oliver Wendell Holmes: A moment's insight is sometimes worth a life's experience.
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Post by diogenes on Nov 19, 2004 12:23:20 GMT -5
Antoine Saint-Exupéry: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly, what is essential is invisible to the eye.
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Post by diogenes on Nov 19, 2004 12:25:00 GMT -5
Kahlil Gibran: Progress lies not in enhancing what is, but in advancing toward what will be ;D
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Post by diogenes on Nov 19, 2004 12:49:45 GMT -5
Feast on my friends and foes alike, feast on!
The reason for the slow progress of the world seems to lie in a single fact. Every man is born under the yoke, and grows up beneath the oppressions of his age. He can only get a vision of the unselfish forces in the world by appealing to them, and every appeal is a call to arms. If he fights he must fight, not one man, but a conspiracy. He is always at war with a civilization. On his side is proverbial philosophy, a galaxy of invisible saints and sages, and the half-developed consciousness and professions of everybody. Against him is the world, and every selfish passion in his own heart. John Jay Chapman
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Post by ZELLEY on Nov 19, 2004 12:56:17 GMT -5
In the 1963, November 22 thread one of our listers mentioned the death of Princess Di. There was a book published called "Poems for a Princess" edited by Heather Killingray.
I was fortunate to have my small contribution included the title was "Ocean Of Tears"
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Post by diogenes on Nov 19, 2004 13:04:55 GMT -5
The Corporate Asylum Satire and Commentary for Discerning Employees
Misc. Essay
More Misc. Essays | Home | Contact The Inmate On the End of War by Glen Draeger
He asked me what were the usual Causes or Motives that made one Country go to War with another. I answered they were innumerable . . . Sometimes the Ambition of Princes, who never think they have Land or People enough to govern: Sometimes the Corruption of Ministers. . . . Difference in Opinions hath cost many Millions of Lives . . . Neither are any Wars so furious and bloody, or of so long Continuance, as those occasioned by Difference in Opinion, especially if it be in things indifferent.
Jonathan Swift, Gulliver's Travels
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Post by diogenes on Nov 19, 2004 13:08:51 GMT -5
Auguries of Innocence William Blake To see a world in a grain of sand And a heaven in a wild flower, Hold infinity in the palm of your hand And eternity in an hour. A robin redbreast in a cage Puts all heaven in a rage. A dove-house filled with doves and pigeons Shudders hell through all its regions. A dog starved at his master's gate Predicts the ruin of the state. A horse misused upon the road Calls to heaven for human blood. Each outcry of the hunted hare A fibre from the brain does tear. A skylark wounded in the wing, A cherubim does cease to sing. The game-organ clipped and armed for fight Does the rising sun affright. Every wolf's and lion's howl Raises from hell a human soul. The wild deer wandering here and there Keeps the human soul from care. The lamb misused breeds public strife, And yet forgives the butcher's knife. The bat that flits at close of eve Has left the brain that won't believe. The owl that calls upon the night Speaks the unbeliever's fright. He who shall hurt the little wren Shall never be beloved by men. He who the ox to wrath has moved Shall never be by woman loved. The wanton boy that kills the fly Shall feel the spider's enmity. He who torments the chafer's sprite Weaves a bower in endless night. The caterpillar on the leaf Repeats to thee thy mother's grief. Kill not the moth nor butterfly, For the Last Judgment draweth nigh. He who shall train the horse to war Shall never pass the polar bar. The beggar's dog and widow's cat, Feed them, and thou wilt grow fat. The gnat that sings his summer's song Poison gets from Slander's tongue. The poison of the snake and newt Is the sweat of Envy's foot. The poison of the honey-bee Is the artist's jealousy. The prince's robes and beggar's rags Are toadstools on the miser's bags. A truth that's told with bad intent Beats all the lies you can invent. It is right it should be so: Man was made for joy and woe; And when this we rightly know Through the world we safely go. Joy and woe are woven fine, A clothing for the soul divine. Under every grief and pine Runs a joy with silken twine. The babe is more than swaddling bands, Throughout all these human lands; Tools were made and born were hands, Every farmer understands. Every tear from every eye Becomes a babe in eternity; This is caught by females bright And returned to its own delight. The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar Are waves that beat on heaven's shore. The babe that weeps the rod beneath Writes Revenge! in realms of death. The beggar's rags fluttering in air Does to rags the heavens tear. The soldier armed with sword and gun Palsied strikes the summer's sun. The poor man's farthing is worth more Than all the gold on Afric's shore. One mite wrung from the labourer's hands Shall buy and sell the miser's lands, Or if protected from on high Does that whole nation sell and buy. He who mocks the infant's faith Shall be mocked in age and death. He who shall teach the child to doubt The rotting grave shall ne'er get out. He who respects the infant's faith Triumphs over hell and death. The child's toys and the old man's reasons Are the fruits of the two seasons. The questioner who sits so sly Shall never know how to reply. He who replies to words of doubt Doth put the light of knowledge out. The strongest poison ever known Came from Caesar's laurel crown. Nought can deform the human race Like to the armour's iron brace. When gold and gems adorn the plough To peaceful arts shall Envy bow. A riddle or the cricket's cry Is to doubt a fit reply. The emmet's inch and eagle's mile Make lame philosophy to smile. He who doubts from what he sees Will ne'er believe, do what you please. If the sun and moon should doubt, They'd immediately go out. To be in a passion you good may do, But no good if a passion is in you. The sleeper and gambler, by the state Licensed, build that nation's fate. The harlot's cry from street to street Shall weave old England's winding sheet. The winner's shout, the loser's curse, Dance before dead England's hearse. Every night and every morn Some to misery are born. Every morn and every night Some are born to sweet delight. Some are born to sweet delight, Some are born to endless night. We are led to believe a lie When we see not through the eye Which was born in a night to perish in a night, When the soul slept in beams of light. God appears, and God is light To those poor souls who dwell in night, But does a human form display To those who dwell in realms of day.
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Freya
Junior Member
Posts: 28
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Post by Freya on Nov 19, 2004 13:17:51 GMT -5
A quote from my absolute favorite author.
I have no faith in human perfectability. I think human exertion will have no appreciable effect upon humanity. Man is now only active - not more happy - nor more wise, than he was 6000 years ago. - Edgar Allan Poe
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Post by ZELLEY on Nov 19, 2004 13:18:43 GMT -5
What is the measure of praise if not the delivery on a tray of Sincerity. And what may I ask is sincerity? True sincerity can be measured when one is prepared to show their own weaknesses as they perform the deed or shower the praise.
Or what measure of words are expressed by the sages and bards of old . ROCHEFOUCALD states: "Love of talking about ourselves and displaying our faults in the light in which we wish them to be seen is the chief element of our sincerity"
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Post by diogenes on Nov 19, 2004 13:51:10 GMT -5
To break with the tradition It seems as Edgar allan Poe is spot on the question now is shall we elevate ourselves or accept the will of others?
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