Citatepedia^®.com

Those who say it can't be done are usually interrupted by others doing it.

quote by James A. Baldwin
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Eighth Book

ONE eve it happened when I sate alone,
Alone upon the terrace of my tower,
A book upon my knees, to counterfeit
The reading that I never read at all,
While Marian, in the garden down below,
Knelt by the fountain (I could just hear thrill
The drowsy silence of the exhausted day)
And peeled a new fig from that purple heap
In the grass beside her,–turning out the red
To feed her eager child, who sucked at it
With vehement lips across a gap of air
As he stood opposite, face and curls a-flame
With that last sun-ray, crying, 'give me, give,'
And stamping with imperious baby-feet,
(We're all born princes)–something startled me,–
The laugh of sad and innocent souls, that breaks
Abruptly, as if frightened at itself;
'Twas Marian laughed. I saw her glance above
In sudden shame that I should hear her laugh,
And straightway dropped my eyes upon my book,
And knew, the first time, 'twas Boccaccio's tales,
The Falcon's,–of the lover who for love
Destroyed the best that loved him. Some of us
Do it still, and then we sit and laugh no more.
Laugh you, sweet Marian! you've the right to laugh,
Since God himself is for you, and a child!
For me there's somewhat less,–and so, I sigh.

The heavens were making room to hold the night,
The sevenfold heavens unfolding all their gates
To let the stars out slowly (prophesied
In close-approaching advent, not discerned),
While still the cue-owls from the cypresses
Of the Poggio called and counted every pulse
Of the skyey palpitation. Gradually
The purple and transparent shadows slow
Had filled up the whole valley to the brim,
And flooded all the city, which you saw
As some drowned city in some enchanted sea,
Cut off from nature,–drawing you who gaze,
With passionate desire, to leap and plunge,
And find a sea-king with a voice of waves,
And treacherous soft eyes, and slippery locks
You cannot kiss but you shall bring away
Their salt upon your lips. The duomo-bell
Strikes ten, as if it struck ten fathoms down,
So deep; and fifty churches answer it
The same, with fifty various instances.
Some gaslights tremble along squares and streets
The Pitti's palace-front is drawn in fire:

[...] Read more

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Improvisations: Light and Snow

I

The girl in the room beneath
Before going to bed
Strums on a mandolin
The three simple tunes she knows.
How inadequate they are to tell how her heart feels!
When she has finished them several times
She thrums the strings aimlessly with her finger-nails
And smiles, and thinks happily of many things.

II

I stood for a long while before the shop window
Looking at the blue butterflies embroidered on tawny silk.
The building was a tower before me,
Time was loud behind me,
Sun went over the housetops and dusty trees;
And there they were, glistening, brilliant, motionless,
Stitched in a golden sky
By yellow patient fingers long since turned to dust.

III

The first bell is silver,
And breathing darkness I think only of the long scythe of time.
The second bell is crimson,
And I think of a holiday night, with rockets
Furrowing the sky with red, and a soft shatter of stars.
The third bell is saffron and slow,
And I behold a long sunset over the sea
With wall on wall of castled cloud and glittering balustrades.
The fourth bell is color of bronze,
I walk by a frozen lake in the dun light of dusk:
Muffled crackings run in the ice,
Trees creak, birds fly.
The fifth bell is cold clear azure,
Delicately tinged with green:
One golden star hangs melting in it,
And towards this, sleepily, I go.
The sixth bell is as if a pebble
Had been dropped into a deep sea far above me . . .
Rings of sound ebb slowly into the silence.

IV

On the day when my uncle and I drove to the cemetery,
Rain rattled on the roof of the carriage;
And talkng constrainedly of this and that
We refrained from looking at the child's coffin on the seat before us.

[...] Read more

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Improvisations: Light And Snow: 12

How many times have we been interrupted
Just as I was about to make up a story for you!
One time it was because we suddenly saw a firefly
Lighting his green lantern among the boughs of a fir-tree.
Marvellous! Marvellous! He is making for himself
A little tent of light in the darkness!
And one time it was because we saw a lilac lightning flash
Run wrinkling into the blue top of the mountain, —
We heard boulders of thunder rolling down upon us
And the plat-plat of drops on the window,
And we ran to watch the rain
Charging in wavering clouds across the long grass of the field!
Or at other times it was because we saw a star
Slipping easily out of the sky and falling, far off,
Among pine-dark hills;
Or because we found a crimson eft
Darting in the cold grass!
These things interrupted us and left us wondering;
And the stories, whatever they might have been,
Were never told.
A fairy, binding a daisy down and laughing?
A golden-haired princess caught in a cobweb?
A love-story of long ago?
Some day, just as we are beginning again,
Just as we blow the first sweet note,
Death itself will interrupt us.

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Courtship of Miles Standish, The

I
MILES STANDISH

In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling,
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather,
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing
Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare,
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, --
Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus,
Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence,
While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock.
Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic,
Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron;
Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already
Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November.
Near him was seated John Alden, his friend and household companion,
Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window:
Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion,
Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives
Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, "Not Angles, but Angels."
Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the Mayflower.

Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting,
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth.
"Look at these arms," he said, "the war-like weapons that hang here
Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection!
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this breastplate,
Well I remember the day! once save my life in a skirmish;
Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero.
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses."
Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing:
"Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet;
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon!"
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling:
"See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging;
That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others.
Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adage;
So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn.
Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army,
Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock,
Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage,
And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers!"
This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams
Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment.
Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued:
"Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Courtship of Miles Standish

I
MILES STANDISH

In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling,
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather,
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing
Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare,
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, --
Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus,
Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence,
While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock.
Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic,
Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron;
Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already
Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November.
Near him was seated John Alden, his friend and household companion,
Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window:
Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion,
Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives
Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, "Not Angles, but Angels."
Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the Mayflower.

Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting,
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth.
"Look at these arms," he said, "the war-like weapons that hang here
Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection!
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this breastplate,
Well I remember the day! once save my life in a skirmish;
Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero.
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses."
Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing:
"Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet;
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon!"
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling:
"See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging;
That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others.
Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adage;
So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn.
Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army,
Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock,
Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage,
And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers!"
This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams
Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment.
Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued:
"Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Letter To Maria Gisborne

The spider spreads her webs, whether she be
In poet's tower, cellar, or barn, or tree;
The silk-worm in the dark green mulberry leaves
His winding sheet and cradle ever weaves;
So I, a thing whom moralists call worm,
Sit spinning still round this decaying form,
From the fine threads of rare and subtle thought-
No net of words in garish colours wrought
To catch the idle buzzers of the day-
But a soft cell, where when that fades away,
Memory may clothe in wings my living name
And feed it with the asphodels of fame,
Which in those hearts which must remember me
Grow, making love an immortality.

Whoever should behold me now, I wist,
Would think I were a mighty mechanist,
Bent with sublime Archimedean art
To breathe a soul into the iron heart
Of some machine portentous, or strange gin,
Which by the force of figured spells might win
Its way over the sea, and sport therein;
For round the walls are hung dread engines, such
As Vulcan never wrought for Jove to clutch
Ixion or the Titan:-or the quick
Wit of that man of God, St. Dominic,
To convince Atheist, Turk, or Heretic,
Or those in philanthropic council met,
Who thought to pay some interest for the debt
They owed to Jesus Christ for their salvation,
By giving a faint foretaste of damnation
To Shakespeare, Sidney, Spenser, and the rest
Who made our land an island of the blest,
When lamp-like Spain, who now relumes her fire
On Freedom's hearth, grew dim with Empire:-
With thumbscrews, wheels, with tooth and spike and jag,
Which fishers found under the utmost crag
Of Cornwall and the storm-encompassed isles,
Where to the sky the rude sea rarely smiles
Unless in treacherous wrath, as on the morn
When the exulting elements in scorn,
Satiated with destroyed destruction, lay
Sleeping in beauty on their mangled prey,
As panthers sleep;-and other strange and dread
Magical forms the brick floor overspread,-
Proteus transformed to metal did not make
More figures, or more strange; nor did he take
Such shapes of unintelligible brass,
Or heap himself in such a horrid mass

[...] Read more

poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Round and round the London Underground

Round and round the London Underground
Interrupted by the braking screeching sounds
Round and round the circle line

The London underground
With its stops is an elongated list
Drunks battle in tunnels with open fists
Hidden somewhere is a network of CCTV Cameras
Recording your every move from afar
Watch out for the picker-pockets, I insist
They swindle even the most experienced tourist

Inside the trains, shine disoriented faces
Bodies usually squeezed into tight spaces
'Please stand clear of the door'
It is an advice not yet a law

Stations by station, trains pass by
Stuck in a tunnel, let out a sigh
Train timetables from my perception
Is regularity, and a common deception

Round and round the London Underground
Interrupted by the braking screeching sounds
Round and round the circle line

Bored, read the metro
It is free, when displayed on show
For those who know
Where to go
Plan your alternative routes
Prepare for train strikes and disputes
Check out the cancellation signs
May your journey be divine!

Copyright 2005 - Sylvia Chidi

poem by Sylvia Chidi
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

In these days, a man who says a thing cannot be done is quite apt to be interrupted by some idiot doing it.

quote by Elbert Hubbard
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

It is difficult to produce a television documentary that is both incisive and probing when every twelve minutes one is interrupted by twelve dancing rabbits singing about toilet paper.

quote by Rod Serling
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

You know how you hate to be interrupted, so why are you always doing it to me.

anonym
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The world is moving so fast these days that the man who says it can't be done is generally interrupted by someone doing it.

quote by Harry Emerson Fosdick
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy! | In Romanian

The world is so fast that there are days when the person who says it can't be done is interrupted by the person who is doing it.

anonym
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The world is moving so fast these days that the man who says it can't be done is generally interrupted by someone doing it.

quote by Elbert Hubbard
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Flickerlight

I can't see
In the flicker-light's quiet frequency
I was briefly interrupted by the sound
Of your voice
Now I can see
Why you turned away in disbelief
I couldn't get enough of the leitmotif
Of your voice
He's a lonely dancer
He's a fun fanatic organiser
I wonder

song performed by Theatre Of Tragedy from Assembly
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

For sleep, riches and health to be truly enjoyed, they must be interrupted.

quote by Jean Paul
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

When we went on the air, I didn't want to be interrupted for an act-one curtain.

quote by Norman Lear
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

If I'm interrupted, it's just a minor inconvenience, but not a disaster, because it's easy to get back where I was: that is, the paint has not changed consistency; the light has not moved.

quote by Buffy Sainte-Marie
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

A long sea implies an uniform and steady motion of long and extensive waves; on the contrary, a short sea is when they run irregularly, broken, and interrupted; so as frequently to burst over a vessel's side or quarter.

quote by William Falconer
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Front Row

do you go to the dungeon to find out how to make peace with your days in the dungeon writing a letter
to you didn't make me feel any more peaceful then how I felt when we weren't speaking because I
didn't cop to what I did. I can't love you because we're supposed to have professional boundaries. i'd
like you to be schooled and in awe as though you were kissed by god full on the lips . i'm in the front
row the front row with popcorn I get to see you see you close up i'm too tired to recount the
unpleasantries one by one one minute I want to banish you the next I want to be on
a deserted island with you along with my three favorite cd's ambivalent yet in your
bed we've yet to acknowledge what really happened
slid into the ditch I have this overwhelming loss of ambition we said let's name thirty good reasons why
we shouldn't be together I started by saying things like "you smoke" "you live in new jersey (too far)"
you started saying things like "you belong to the world" all of which could have been easily
refuted but the conversation was hypothetical I am totally short of breath for you why can't you shut
your stuff off..... i'm in the front row the front row with popcorn I get to see you see you close up
and I laughed until my lungs hurt I love how you bust my chops you don't always
feel seen sometimes you feel erasable unfortunately I cannot reciprocate in my
current state I think we should be careful of how much time we spend together
........for a while i'm speaking you know how much you hate to be interrupted maybe spend some
time alone to fill up your proverbial cup so that it doesn't always have to be about you i've been wanting
your undivided attention I like the fact that you're nothing like me are you not burdened by the lack of
perspective people have of your charmed life i'm in the front row the front row with
popcorn I get to see you see you close up you never meant to be ungrateful nor held up to
be whipped or wept for certainly not analysed prodded at more ways than one
apparently you've been misrepresented dealing with the concept of arrows being
slung towards your outrageous fortune
hey i'm not mad at you guardian i'm mad at myself for spending so much time with you and your
jeckyl and hydeness i'm glad i figuratively slapped you on the wrist you laughed a wicked laugh
and said "come here let me clip your wings!"(i know he's blood but you can still turn him away you
don't owe him anything) "raise the roof" he yelled "yeah raise the roof!" I yelled back. (unfortunately
you needed a health scare to reprioritize.) no thanks to the soap box. having me rile against them
won't make an ounce of difference...... i'm in the front row the front row with popcorn. I get to see
you see you close up oh the things i've done for you many a sitch a friend a man's
been left for you oh the books i've read for you the tongues i've bitten for you many
a new city for you many a risk taken for you (not a single regret)

song performed by Alanis Morissette from Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

From The Heart

(carly simon)
One of us slipped last night
And said darling?
There in the middle of the night
Between dream and sleep
Did you say it or did i
I dont know
But it interrupted the war
Thats the way
These cold wars are
I love you we said
Or one of us did
And the other agreed
>from the heart
One of us slipped last night
And said sorry?
There in the middle of the madness
Between the dark and the light
Who cares if all the doors had been closed
And no love had entered for days
Cold wars like these go up in a blaze
I love you we said
Or one of us did
And the other agreed
>from the heart
Thru the haze of the dream
The truth could come thru
You can see that Im still
Open to you
I love you
I love you we said from the heart

song performed by Carly Simon
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!