Why Should I Waste Your Time
'Say it! '
No!
I've kinda said that already.
'Well,
Say that! '
No!
I'm saving that to say later.
'Then what is the purpose,
Of saying anything at all? '
Exactly!
And that's the point I want to make.
Why should I waste your time...
By wasting mine?
Trying to find something to say.
'Then don't say anything! '
I wouldn't,
If you weren't here!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society
Epigraph
Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.
I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.
You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning (1871)
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- quotes about Italy
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- quotes about performance
- quotes about language
- quotes about tobacco
- quotes about old age
- quotes about luck
- quotes about frontiers
- quotes about perfection
Thats The Kinda Love I Got For You
(d. fletcher / d. parks)
From a mountain high to a valley low
Stronger than the strongest and even more
Running deep, as deep can go
And can even turn your darkest clouds to falling snow
Thats the kinda love I got for you, yeah
Thats the kinda love I got for you-hoo-oo
I cant help myself
I cant help myself
Oh, I love ya
Well, I just cant help myself
Like falling water on desert sand
Making flowers grow on barren land, yeah
Ever growin, growin long
Heaven only knows just how much it grows, ah
Thats the kinda love I got for you-oo
Thats the kinda love I got for you-hoo-oo
I cant help myself
I cant help myself
I love ya
Baby, I just cant help myself, no
Im playing with fire
Ive lost control, yeah
Oh this lovely feeling
Burns to my very soul
Burning hot, as hot as I can go
Cant seem to help myself
Just got to let you know
Thats the kinda love I got for you
Thats the kinda love I got for you-hoo-hoo
Thats the kinda love I got for you, baby
Thats the kinda love I got for, yeah
Oh, come and get it, honey
Cant help myself
This love of mine
Oh, its getting stronger
Cant help myself
Cant wait much longer, yeah
I feel it for you, yeah
Oh, thats the kinda love I got for you
Thats the kinda love I got for you, yeah
Thats the kinda love I got for you-oo
Thats the kinda love I got for you-hoo
Thats the kinda love I got for you, baby
Thats the kinda love I got for you, yeah
Thats the kinda love I got for you-hoo
Thats the kinda love I got for you-hoo-hoo
Thats the kinda love I got for you, yeah
Thats the kinda love I got for you, yeah-heah-heah
Thats the kinda love I got for you, honey
[...] Read more
song performed by Dusty Springfield
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- quotes about strength
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- quotes about parks
- quotes about childhood
- quotes about mountains
- quotes about authority
- quotes about desert
- quotes about water
- quotes about fire
That's The Kind Of Love I Got For You
(d. fletcher / d. parks)
From a mountain high to a valley low
Stronger than the strongest and even more
Running deep, as deep can go
And can even turn your darkest clouds to falling snow
That's the kinda love i got for you, yeah
That's the kinda love i got for you-hoo-oo
I can't help myself
I can't help myself
Oh, i love ya
Well, i just can't help myself
Like falling water on desert sand
Making flowers grow on barren land, yeah
Ever growin', growin' long
Heaven only knows just how much it grows, ah
That's the kinda love i got for you-oo
That's the kinda love i got for you-hoo-oo
I can't help myself
I can't help myself
I love ya
Baby, i just can't help myself, no
I'm playing with fire
I've lost control, yeah
Oh this lovely feeling
Burns to my very soul
Burning hot, as hot as i can go
Can't seem to help myself
Just got to let you know
That's the kinda love i got for you
That's the kinda love i got for you-hoo-hoo
That's the kinda love i got for you, baby
That's the kinda love i got for, yeah
Oh, come and get it, honey
Can't help myself
This love of mine
Oh, it's getting stronger
Can't help myself
Can't wait much longer, yeah
I feel it for you, yeah
Oh, that's the kinda love i got for you
That's the kinda love i got for you, yeah
That's the kinda love i got for you-oo
That's the kinda love i got for you-hoo
That's the kinda love i got for you, baby
That's the kinda love i got for you, yeah
That's the kinda love i got for you-hoo
That's the kinda love i got for you-hoo-hoo
That's the kinda love i got for you, yeah
That's the kinda love i got for you, yeah-heah-heah
That's the kinda love i got for you, honey
[...] Read more
song performed by Dusty Springfield
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VI. Giuseppe Caponsacchi
Answer you, Sirs? Do I understand aright?
Have patience! In this sudden smoke from hell,—
So things disguise themselves,—I cannot see
My own hand held thus broad before my face
And know it again. Answer you? Then that means
Tell over twice what I, the first time, told
Six months ago: 't was here, I do believe,
Fronting you same three in this very room,
I stood and told you: yet now no one laughs,
Who then … nay, dear my lords, but laugh you did,
As good as laugh, what in a judge we style
Laughter—no levity, nothing indecorous, lords!
Only,—I think I apprehend the mood:
There was the blameless shrug, permissible smirk,
The pen's pretence at play with the pursed mouth,
The titter stifled in the hollow palm
Which rubbed the eyebrow and caressed the nose,
When I first told my tale: they meant, you know,
"The sly one, all this we are bound believe!
"Well, he can say no other than what he says.
"We have been young, too,—come, there's greater guilt!
"Let him but decently disembroil himself,
"Scramble from out the scrape nor move the mud,—
"We solid ones may risk a finger-stretch!
And now you sit as grave, stare as aghast
As if I were a phantom: now 't is—"Friend,
"Collect yourself!"—no laughing matter more—
"Counsel the Court in this extremity,
"Tell us again!"—tell that, for telling which,
I got the jocular piece of punishment,
Was sent to lounge a little in the place
Whence now of a sudden here you summon me
To take the intelligence from just—your lips!
You, Judge Tommati, who then tittered most,—
That she I helped eight months since to escape
Her husband, was retaken by the same,
Three days ago, if I have seized your sense,—
(I being disallowed to interfere,
Meddle or make in a matter none of mine,
For you and law were guardians quite enough
O' the innocent, without a pert priest's help)—
And that he has butchered her accordingly,
As she foretold and as myself believed,—
And, so foretelling and believing so,
We were punished, both of us, the merry way:
Therefore, tell once again the tale! For what?
Pompilia is only dying while I speak!
Why does the mirth hang fire and miss the smile?
My masters, there's an old book, you should con
For strange adventures, applicable yet,
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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VIII. Dominus Hyacinthus de Archangelis, Pauperum Procurator
Ah, my Giacinto, he's no ruddy rogue,
Is not Cinone? What, to-day we're eight?
Seven and one's eight, I hope, old curly-pate!
—Branches me out his verb-tree on the slate,
Amo-as-avi-atum-are-ans,
Up to -aturus, person, tense, and mood,
Quies me cum subjunctivo (I could cry)
And chews Corderius with his morning crust!
Look eight years onward, and he's perched, he's perched
Dapper and deft on stool beside this chair,
Cinozzo, Cinoncello, who but he?
—Trying his milk-teeth on some crusty case
Like this, papa shall triturate full soon
To smooth Papinianian pulp!
It trots
Already through my head, though noon be now,
Does supper-time and what belongs to eve.
Dispose, O Don, o' the day, first work then play!
—The proverb bids. And "then" means, won't we hold
Our little yearly lovesome frolic feast,
Cinuolo's birth-night, Cinicello's own,
That makes gruff January grin perforce!
For too contagious grows the mirth, the warmth
Escaping from so many hearts at once—
When the good wife, buxom and bonny yet,
Jokes the hale grandsire,—such are just the sort
To go off suddenly,—he who hides the key
O' the box beneath his pillow every night,—
Which box may hold a parchment (someone thinks)
Will show a scribbled something like a name
"Cinino, Ciniccino," near the end,
"To whom I give and I bequeath my lands,
"Estates, tenements, hereditaments,
"When I decease as honest grandsire ought."
Wherefore—yet this one time again perhaps—
Shan't my Orvieto fuddle his old nose!
Then, uncles, one or the other, well i' the world,
May—drop in, merely?—trudge through rain and wind,
Rather! The smell-feasts rouse them at the hint
There's cookery in a certain dwelling-place!
Gossips, too, each with keepsake in his poke,
Will pick the way, thrid lane by lantern-light,
And so find door, put galligaskin off
At entry of a decent domicile
Cornered in snug Condotti,—all for love,
All to crush cup with Cinucciatolo!
Well,
Let others climb the heights o' the court, the camp!
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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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My Kinda Life
Right from early days from the moment I was born
I would take my guitar in the early early mornin
And go down to the fields and play-ay-ay
Sittin down there in the long grass strummin
I could see the people from miles around comin
To hear me sing my music and play-ay-ay
Well thats been my kinda life my kinda life (yes and I like it)
Well thats been my kinda life my kinda life (yes and I like it)
Well thats been my kinda life yeah and I wouldnt spend it anywhere
Other than sittin down somewhere playin away my days
Well we made it to the city just me and my guitar
That was where I found a freaky little bar
I sat there on the stage and play-ay-ayed
Well up came a guy who said it wasnt plastic
He wanted me to sing away my life or something drastic
But all I wanna do is play-ay-ay
Well thats been my kinda life my kinda life (yes and I like it)
Well thats been my kinda life my kinda life (yes and I like it)
Well thats been my kinda life yeah and I wouldnt spend it anywhere
Other than sittin down somewhere playin away my days
Well fame and fortune Ive let them pass me by
No one in the country could say I didnt try
To turn the people and to play-ay-ay
You can keep all the money and the places that go with it
Cos all I want is freedom and no cash could ever get it
All I wanna do is play-ay-ay
Well thats been my kinda life my kinda life (yes and I like it)
Well thats been my kinda life my kinda life (yes and I like it)
Well thats been my kinda life yeah and I wouldnt spend it anywhere
Other than sittin down somewhere playin away my days
song performed by Cliff Richard
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Some Kinda Love
Written by al hodge, leslie duncan & tony cox
They set the wheels in motion adam and eve
The beginning of romance
He was a lonely man I do believe
So he thought hed take a chance
I know just how he was feeling
Hed been advised not to fall
But when his senses were reeling
That man he wanted it all
Honey this is some kinda love
You are my sweet temptation
Honey this is some kinda some kinda love
Like a moth to a flame all you gotta do is call my name
Ill come running to you
I was a lonely man until you came
Life was black life was blue
Without a word being spoken
I saw you then I knew
Now my defences are broken
Theres not a thing I can do
Honey this is some kinda love
You are my sweet temptation
Honey this is some kinda some kinda love oh baby
Honey this is some kinda love
Were just one step from heaven
Honey this is some kinda some kinda love
Oh girl theres a fire in my soul
Im just burning for you
Oh girl Im out of control
Tell me can you feel it too
Im burning up Im burning up
Theres a fire in my soul
Im burning up Im burning up
For you
Honey this is some kinda love
You are my sweet temptation
Honey this is some kinda some kinda love
Honey this is some kinda love
Were just one step from heaven
Honey this is some kinda some kinda love
Repeat
song performed by Rick Astley
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V. Count Guido Franceschini
Thanks, Sir, but, should it please the reverend Court,
I feel I can stand somehow, half sit down
Without help, make shift to even speak, you see,
Fortified by the sip of … why, 't is wine,
Velletri,—and not vinegar and gall,
So changed and good the times grow! Thanks, kind Sir!
Oh, but one sip's enough! I want my head
To save my neck, there's work awaits me still.
How cautious and considerate … aie, aie, aie,
Nor your fault, sweet Sir! Come, you take to heart
An ordinary matter. Law is law.
Noblemen were exempt, the vulgar thought,
From racking; but, since law thinks otherwise,
I have been put to the rack: all's over now,
And neither wrist—what men style, out of joint:
If any harm be, 't is the shoulder-blade,
The left one, that seems wrong i' the socket,—Sirs,
Much could not happen, I was quick to faint,
Being past my prime of life, and out of health.
In short, I thank you,—yes, and mean the word.
Needs must the Court be slow to understand
How this quite novel form of taking pain,
This getting tortured merely in the flesh,
Amounts to almost an agreeable change
In my case, me fastidious, plied too much
With opposite treatment, used (forgive the joke)
To the rasp-tooth toying with this brain of mine,
And, in and out my heart, the play o' the probe.
Four years have I been operated on
I' the soul, do you see—its tense or tremulous part—
My self-respect, my care for a good name,
Pride in an old one, love of kindred—just
A mother, brothers, sisters, and the like,
That looked up to my face when days were dim,
And fancied they found light there—no one spot,
Foppishly sensitive, but has paid its pang.
That, and not this you now oblige me with,
That was the Vigil-torment, if you please!
The poor old noble House that drew the rags
O' the Franceschini's once superb array
Close round her, hoped to slink unchallenged by,—
Pluck off these! Turn the drapery inside out
And teach the tittering town how scarlet wears!
Show men the lucklessness, the improvidence
Of the easy-natured Count before this Count,
The father I have some slight feeling for,
Who let the world slide, nor foresaw that friends
Then proud to cap and kiss their patron's shoe,
Would, when the purse he left held spider-webs,
Properly push his child to wall one day!
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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Wasting Time
in between dim hours
in between dull days
i'm out counting flowers
i'm still chasing faith
mistake me for a pilot
mistake me for a face you know
consider this old conscience
let no trouble come my way
wasting time, you'd understand
wasting time
wasting time, we'll make our plans
wasting time
it's you alone i wish to free
on you alone i'll focus
it's not the change i wish to believe
this coming of the locusts
skipping like a skimming stone
skimming the bad chapters
swimming thru your tides alone
swimming on your laughter, we're after
wasting time, you'd understand
wasting time
wasting time, let's take the chance
wasting time
you and i, we understand
time is not for making
but just because we don't have a clue
doesn't mean we're faking, we're wasting
wasting time, you'd understand
wasting time
wasting time, we'll make our plans
wasting time
song performed by Zwan
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VII. Pompilia
I am just seventeen years and five months old,
And, if I lived one day more, three full weeks;
'T is writ so in the church's register,
Lorenzo in Lucina, all my names
At length, so many names for one poor child,
—Francesca Camilla Vittoria Angela
Pompilia Comparini,—laughable!
Also 't is writ that I was married there
Four years ago: and they will add, I hope,
When they insert my death, a word or two,—
Omitting all about the mode of death,—
This, in its place, this which one cares to know,
That I had been a mother of a son
Exactly two weeks. It will be through grace
O' the Curate, not through any claim I have;
Because the boy was born at, so baptized
Close to, the Villa, in the proper church:
A pretty church, I say no word against,
Yet stranger-like,—while this Lorenzo seems
My own particular place, I always say.
I used to wonder, when I stood scarce high
As the bed here, what the marble lion meant,
With half his body rushing from the wall,
Eating the figure of a prostrate man—
(To the right, it is, of entry by the door)
An ominous sign to one baptized like me,
Married, and to be buried there, I hope.
And they should add, to have my life complete,
He is a boy and Gaetan by name—
Gaetano, for a reason,—if the friar
Don Celestine will ask this grace for me
Of Curate Ottoboni: he it was
Baptized me: he remembers my whole life
As I do his grey hair.
All these few things
I know are true,—will you remember them?
Because time flies. The surgeon cared for me,
To count my wounds,—twenty-two dagger-wounds,
Five deadly, but I do not suffer much—
Or too much pain,—and am to die to-night.
Oh how good God is that my babe was born,
—Better than born, baptized and hid away
Before this happened, safe from being hurt!
That had been sin God could not well forgive:
He was too young to smile and save himself.
When they took two days after he was born,
My babe away from me to be baptized
And hidden awhile, for fear his foe should find,—
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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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XI. Guido
You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock
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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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IX. Juris Doctor Johannes-Baptista Bottinius, Fisci et Rev. Cam. Apostol. Advocatus
Had I God's leave, how I would alter things!
If I might read instead of print my speech,—
Ay, and enliven speech with many a flower
Refuses obstinate to blow in print,
As wildings planted in a prim parterre,—
This scurvy room were turned an immense hall;
Opposite, fifty judges in a row;
This side and that of me, for audience—Rome:
And, where yon window is, the Pope should hide—
Watch, curtained, but peep visibly enough.
A buzz of expectation! Through the crowd,
Jingling his chain and stumping with his staff,
Up comes an usher, louts him low, "The Court
"Requires the allocution of the Fisc!"
I rise, I bend, I look about me, pause
O'er the hushed multitude: I count—One, two—
Have ye seen, Judges, have ye, lights of law,—
When it may hap some painter, much in vogue
Throughout our city nutritive of arts,
Ye summon to a task shall test his worth,
And manufacture, as he knows and can,
A work may decorate a palace-wall,
Afford my lords their Holy Family,—
Hath it escaped the acumen of the Court
How such a painter sets himself to paint?
Suppose that Joseph, Mary and her Babe
A-journeying to Egypt, prove the piece:
Why, first he sedulously practiseth,
This painter,—girding loin and lighting lamp,—
On what may nourish eye, make facile hand;
Getteth him studies (styled by draughtsmen so)
From some assistant corpse of Jew or Turk
Or, haply, Molinist, he cuts and carves,—
This Luca or this Carlo or the like.
To him the bones their inmost secret yield,
Each notch and nodule signify their use:
On him the muscles turn, in triple tier,
And pleasantly entreat the entrusted man
"Familiarize thee with our play that lifts
"Thus, and thus lowers again, leg, arm and foot!"
—Ensuring due correctness in the nude.
Which done, is all done? Not a whit, ye know!
He,—to art's surface rising from her depth,—
If some flax-polled soft-bearded sire be found,
May simulate a Joseph, (happy chance!)—
Limneth exact each wrinkle of the brow,
Loseth no involution, cheek or chap,
Till lo, in black and white, the senior lives!
Is it a young and comely peasant-nurse
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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Once In A Lifetime Groove
Ooh
I see you standing there
So lost and all alone
I wanna take you in my arms
And tell you that youre home
I look into your eyes
I know you very well
I see a mirror of my life
A reflection of myself
The sun comes up, the sun goes down
And in between you gotta make it seem like somethin counts
Youre seachin here, youre searchin there
For the dream thatll make you seem like someone cares
Reach out and touch
The love that I have for you
cause this kinda love
Is a once in a lifetime groove (oh, girl, yeah)
You wanna take a chance
I see it on your face
You know my loves the answer
Girl, dont be afraid
I know just what to do
To be a shining star
I know just how to rescue you
cause Ive been where you are
The sun comes up, the sun goes down
And in between you gotta find a dream that makes life count
Youre seachin here, youre searchin there
Your job is done, you found a lover and someone cares
This kinda love
Is a once in a lifetime groove (ooh, ooh, ooh)
cause this kinda love
Is a once in a lifetime groove (yeah)
Reach out and touch
The love that I have for you (ooh, ooh, ooh)
cause this kinda love
Is a once in a lifetime groove (yeah, ooh)
This kinda love
This kinda love (ooh)
This kinda love
This kinda love
(the sun comes up) the sun comes up, the sun goes down (sun goes down)
Youre tryin to make life count, girl
(youre seachin here) youre seachin here, youre searchin there (searchin there)
To find someone who cares, hey, baby, ah, yeah
cause this kinda love
Is a once in a lifetime groove (ooh, ooh, ooh)
cause this kinda love
Is a once in a lifetime groove (yeah)
Reach out and touch
[...] Read more
song performed by New Edition
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Ghost - Book IV
Coxcombs, who vainly make pretence
To something of exalted sense
'Bove other men, and, gravely wise,
Affect those pleasures to despise,
Which, merely to the eye confined,
Bring no improvement to the mind,
Rail at all pomp; they would not go
For millions to a puppet-show,
Nor can forgive the mighty crime
Of countenancing pantomime;
No, not at Covent Garden, where,
Without a head for play or player,
Or, could a head be found most fit,
Without one player to second it,
They must, obeying Folly's call,
Thrive by mere show, or not at all
With these grave fops, who, (bless their brains!)
Most cruel to themselves, take pains
For wretchedness, and would be thought
Much wiser than a wise man ought,
For his own happiness, to be;
Who what they hear, and what they see,
And what they smell, and taste, and feel,
Distrust, till Reason sets her seal,
And, by long trains of consequences
Insured, gives sanction to the senses;
Who would not (Heaven forbid it!) waste
One hour in what the world calls Taste,
Nor fondly deign to laugh or cry,
Unless they know some reason why;
With these grave fops, whose system seems
To give up certainty for dreams,
The eye of man is understood
As for no other purpose good
Than as a door, through which, of course,
Their passage crowding, objects force,
A downright usher, to admit
New-comers to the court of Wit:
(Good Gravity! forbear thy spleen;
When I say Wit, I Wisdom mean)
Where (such the practice of the court,
Which legal precedents support)
Not one idea is allow'd
To pass unquestion'd in the crowd,
But ere it can obtain the grace
Of holding in the brain a place,
Before the chief in congregation
Must stand a strict examination.
Not such as those, who physic twirl,
Full fraught with death, from every curl;
[...] Read more
poem by Charles Churchill
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Ex-girlfriend
I kinda always knew Id end up your ex-girlfriend
I kinda always knew Id end up your ex-girlfriend
I kinda always knew Id end up your ex-girlfriend
I hope I hold a special place with the rest of them
And you know it makes me sick to be on that list
But I should have thought of that before we kissed
You say youre gonna burn before you mellow
I will be the one to burn you
Whyd you have to go and pick me?
When you that we were different, completely
I kinda always knew Id end up your ex-girlfriend
I kinda always knew Id end up your ex-girlfriend
I hope I hold a special place with the rest of them
I kinda always knew Id end up your ex-girlfriend
Im another ex-girlfriend on your list
But I should have thought of that before we kissed
Your wildness scares me
So does your freedom
You say you cant stand the restrictions
I find myself trying to change you
If you were meant to be my lover I wouldnt have to
And I feel so mean, I feel in between
cause Im about to give you away
I kinda always knew Id end up your ex-girlfriend (for someone else to take)
I kinda always knew Id end up your ex-girlfriend (am I making a mistake? )
I hope I hold a special place with the rest of them (all the time that we
Spent) I kinda always knew Id end up your ex-girl, friend
Im another ex-girlfriend on your list
But I should have thought of that before we kissed
Im another ex-girlfriend on your list
But I should have thought of that before we kissed
Im about to give you away for someone else to take
Im about to give you away for someone else to take
We keep repeating mistakes for souvenirs
And weve been in between the days for years
And I know that when I see you Im going to die
I know Im going to want you and you know why
Its going to kill me to see you with the next girl
cause Im the most gorgeously jealous kind of ex-girl
I kinda always knew Id end up your ex-girlfriend
I kinda always knew Id end up your ex-girlfriend
I hope I hold a special place with the rest of them
I kinda always knew Id end up your ex-girl friend
Im another ex-girlfriend on your list
But I should have thought of that before we kissed
Im another ex-girlfriend on your list
But I should have thought of that before we kissed
song performed by Gwen Stefani
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No Point
J. spinks
This aint working out
Its not worth the time I spent on it
When Ive been next to you
Its not the way you want it
And all I wanna do
Is get away and as far away from it
Theres no point cos Im not winning
Theres no point going back to the beginning
Theres no point to keep on waiting
Theres no point in talking it over
Theres no point in getting any closer
If it was up to you
Wed go around in circles forever
Theres nothing left to do
I go around - around in you
Ive tried to see it through
All Ive seen is the stormy weather
Theres no point in still pretending
Theres no point cos this is never ending
Theres no point in keep on trying
Theres no point to carry on lying
Theres no point acting like children
Theres no point cos this time Im gone
Theres no point in talking it over
Theres no point in getting any close
Theres no point in still pretending
Theres no point cos this is never ending
Theres no point in keep on trying
Theres no point to carry on lying
Theres no point in talking it over
Theres no point in getting any closer
Theres no point cos Im not winning
Theres no point going back to the beginning
Theres no point in hesitating
Theres no point tonight
Theres no point at all
song performed by Outfield
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Still Sideways
and you need me every time
i'll wait it out for a while
but someone get me outta here
it's better now that i'm not around
maybe you can see i'm still kinda sideways
i'm wasting away
and something's got me thinking it might be nothing
but i'm wasting away
maybe i'm just tired
tomorrow never let's me see
but i don't know who you are
its hard enough to feel this way
im holding on but you move too slow
maybe you can see i'm still kinda sideways
i'm wasting away
and something's got me thinking it might be nothing
but i'm wasting away
maybe i'm just tired
no one can get inside
no way no not this time
it's too late to get it right
i'll try today
and you need me every time
i'll wait it out for a while
but someone get me outta here
it's better now that i'm not around
maybe you can see i'm still kinda sideways
i'm wasting away
and something's got me thinking it might be nothing
but i'm wasting away
ill never let you see
never let you see
never let you see
maybe you can see i'm still kinda sideways
i'm wasting away
song performed by American Hi-Fi
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I. The Ring and the Book
Do you see this Ring?
'T is Rome-work, made to match
(By Castellani's imitative craft)
Etrurian circlets found, some happy morn,
After a dropping April; found alive
Spark-like 'mid unearthed slope-side figtree-roots
That roof old tombs at Chiusi: soft, you see,
Yet crisp as jewel-cutting. There's one trick,
(Craftsmen instruct me) one approved device
And but one, fits such slivers of pure gold
As this was,—such mere oozings from the mine,
Virgin as oval tawny pendent tear
At beehive-edge when ripened combs o'erflow,—
To bear the file's tooth and the hammer's tap:
Since hammer needs must widen out the round,
And file emboss it fine with lily-flowers,
Ere the stuff grow a ring-thing right to wear.
That trick is, the artificer melts up wax
With honey, so to speak; he mingles gold
With gold's alloy, and, duly tempering both,
Effects a manageable mass, then works:
But his work ended, once the thing a ring,
Oh, there's repristination! Just a spirt
O' the proper fiery acid o'er its face,
And forth the alloy unfastened flies in fume;
While, self-sufficient now, the shape remains,
The rondure brave, the lilied loveliness,
Gold as it was, is, shall be evermore:
Prime nature with an added artistry—
No carat lost, and you have gained a ring.
What of it? 'T is a figure, a symbol, say;
A thing's sign: now for the thing signified.
Do you see this square old yellow Book, I toss
I' the air, and catch again, and twirl about
By the crumpled vellum covers,—pure crude fact
Secreted from man's life when hearts beat hard,
And brains, high-blooded, ticked two centuries since?
Examine it yourselves! I found this book,
Gave a lira for it, eightpence English just,
(Mark the predestination!) when a Hand,
Always above my shoulder, pushed me once,
One day still fierce 'mid many a day struck calm,
Across a Square in Florence, crammed with booths,
Buzzing and blaze, noontide and market-time,
Toward Baccio's marble,—ay, the basement-ledge
O' the pedestal where sits and menaces
John of the Black Bands with the upright spear,
'Twixt palace and church,—Riccardi where they lived,
His race, and San Lorenzo where they lie.
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Saving Grace
Without direction I walk the night
I was alone in a single beam of light
One glance and you changed my blues
To a prism of light
A thousand hues
Now I must climb to the rainbows arc
Who knows I might find a halo for your heart
Whenever I'm lost for words
And my whole world is falling apart
You are my saving grace
You are the light of a love everlasting
I find hiding place
In your arms
My one and only
Saving grace
My saving grace
I fought the world with a restless heart
Kept my emotions locked away in the dark
Then you came to build me up
When this world could only tear me apart
You are my saving grace
You are the light of a love everlasting
And I find hiding place in your arms
My one and only
Saving grace
For the rest of your life
You can count on me
To never let you down
When you whisper to me
You give me strength to believe that I can hold on
Somehow
You are my saving grace
You are the light of a love everlasting
I find a hiding place
In your arms
My one and only
Saving grace
You are my light and my love everlasting
And I find a hiding place
In your arms
My one and only
Saving grace
My saving grace....
My saving grace
song performed by 38 Special
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The Four Seasons : Winter
See, Winter comes, to rule the varied year,
Sullen and sad, with all his rising train;
Vapours, and clouds, and storms. Be these my theme,
These! that exalt the soul to solemn thought,
And heavenly musing. Welcome, kindred glooms,
Congenial horrors, hail! with frequent foot,
Pleased have I, in my cheerful morn of life,
When nursed by careless Solitude I lived,
And sung of Nature with unceasing joy,
Pleased have I wander'd through your rough domain;
Trod the pure virgin-snows, myself as pure;
Heard the winds roar, and the big torrent burst;
Or seen the deep-fermenting tempest brew'd,
In the grim evening sky. Thus pass'd the time,
Till through the lucid chambers of the south
Look'd out the joyous Spring, look'd out, and smiled.
To thee, the patron of her first essay,
The Muse, O Wilmington! renews her song.
Since has she rounded the revolving year:
Skimm'd the gay Spring; on eagle-pinions borne,
Attempted through the Summer-blaze to rise;
Then swept o'er Autumn with the shadowy gale;
And now among the wintry clouds again,
Roll'd in the doubling storm, she tries to soar;
To swell her note with all the rushing winds;
To suit her sounding cadence to the floods;
As is her theme, her numbers wildly great:
Thrice happy could she fill thy judging ear
With bold description, and with manly thought.
Nor art thou skill'd in awful schemes alone,
And how to make a mighty people thrive;
But equal goodness, sound integrity,
A firm, unshaken, uncorrupted soul,
Amid a sliding age, and burning strong,
Not vainly blazing for thy country's weal,
A steady spirit regularly free;
These, each exalting each, the statesman light
Into the patriot; these, the public hope
And eye to thee converting, bid the Muse
Record what envy dares not flattery call.
Now when the cheerless empire of the sky
To Capricorn the Centaur Archer yields,
And fierce Aquarius stains the inverted year;
Hung o'er the farthest verge of Heaven, the sun
Scarce spreads through ether the dejected day.
Faint are his gleams, and ineffectual shoot
His struggling rays, in horizontal lines,
Through the thick air; as clothed in cloudy storm,
Weak, wan, and broad, he skirts the southern sky;
And, soon-descending, to the long dark night,
[...] Read more
poem by James Thomson
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