The latent weight...
Enmity diplomacy surpasses a fantasy …
On approaching ecstasy reacts wit,
Feelings deprived sympathy fatal feature,
Loneliness pathology anomalous activity …
Dark substances the latent weight of installed …
poem by Gioom Galen
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Related quotes
All Is Loneliness
All is loneliness
Loneliness here for me
Loneliness here for me.
All is loneliness
Loneliness here for me
Loneliness here for me.
All is loneliness
Loneliness here for me
Loneliness here for me.
All is loneliness
Loneliness here for me
Loneliness here for me.
All is loneliness
Loneliness here for me
Loneliness here for me
Loneliness here for me
Loneliness here for me.
Loneliness come on bother me
Want me 'round my door.
I get loneliness
I get loneliness
I get loneliness
I get loneliness
Loneliness, heck i said loneliness
Lord, loneliness, yeah, i said loneliness.
I said loneliness come on by my bed
Gonna worry me 'round on my door-mat.
I said loneliness come and found me,
I said you found me whole.
Yeah and now loneliness
Lordy lordy loneliness
Lordy lordy loneliness
Lordy lordy loneliness
Yeah, loneliness
Oh loneliness
Oh loneliness
Oh loneliness
Oh loneliness
Oh loneliness
Oh loneliness
Oh loneliness
Ah loneliness
Ah loneliness
Loneliness
Loneliness
Loneliness
Loneliness.
Every day when i walk home
I see loneliness
When i waited for my baby.
[...] Read more
song performed by Janis Joplin
Added by Lucian Velea
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Can I Get A...
[jay-z]
Bounce wit me, bounce wit me
Can ya can ya can ya bounce wit me, bounce wit me
Ya-yah-yah, ya-ya-yah-yeah bounce wit me, bounce wit me
Ge-gi, ge-gi-gi-gi-geyeah bounce wit me, bounce wit me
Get it!
Verse one: jay-z
Can i hit in the morning
Without giving you half of my dough
And even worse if i was broke would you want me?
If i couldn't get you finer things
Like all of them diamond rings [niggaz] kill for
Would you still roll?
If we couldn't see the sun risin off the shore of thailand
Would you ride then, if it wasn't droppin?
If wasn't ah, eight figure [nigga] by the name of jigga
Would you come around naked, would you clown me?
If i couldn't flow futuristic would ya
Put your two lips on my [dick], kiss it - could ya
See yourself with a [nigga] workin harder than 9 to 5
Contend with six, two jobs to survive, or
Do you need a balla? so you can shop and tear the mall up?
Brag, tell your friends what i bought ya
If you couldn't see yourself with a [nigga] when his dough is low
Baby girl, if this is so, yo..
Chorus: repeat 2x
[jay-z] can i get a what what
To these chickens from all of my doves
Who don't love those, they get no dough
[amil] can i get a woop woop
To these fellas from all of my ladies
Who don't got love for players without dubs?
[amil] now can you bounce wit me, uhh
[jay-z] bounce wit me, bounce wit me
Can ya can ya can ya bounce wit me, bounce wit me
[amil] uh uh.. major coins
[jay-z] bounce wit me, bounce wit me
[amil] yeah, not done
[jay-z] can ya can ya can ya bounce wit me, bounce wit me
[amil] uh-uh uh uh
Verse two: amil
You ain't gotta be rich but funk dat
How a [bitch] gonna get around your bus pass
? put this [ass] on your mustache
Can you afford me, my ? ? this, never corny
Ambition makes me, so horny, i come fussin in the
Front end, if you got nuttin, baby boy, you betta
"git up, git out and get somethin" [shit!]
I like a, lot of pravada, alize and baca
Late nights, candlelight, can i tear the [cock] up
[...] Read more
song performed by Jay-Z
Added by Lucian Velea
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An Essay on Criticism
Part I
INTRODUCTION. That it is as great a fault to judge ill as to write ill, and a more dangerous one to the public. That a true Taste is as rare to be found as a true Genius. That most men are born with some Taste, but spoiled by false education. The multitude of Critics, and causes of them. That we are to study our own Taste, and know the limits of it. Nature the best guide of judgment. Improved by Art and rules, which are but methodized Nature. Rules derived from the practice of the ancient poets. That therefore the ancients are necessary to be studied by a Critic, particularly Homer and Virgil. Of licenses, and the use of them by the ancients. Reverence due to the ancients, and praise of them.
'Tis hard to say if greater want of skill
Appear in writing or in judging ill;
But of the two less dangerous is th'offence
To tire our patience than mislead our sense:
Some few in that, but numbers err in this;
Ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss;
A fool might once himself alone expose;
Now one in verse makes many more in prose.
'Tis with our judgments as our watches, none
Go just alike, yet each believes his own.
In Poets as true Genius is but rare,
True Taste as seldom is the Critic's share;
Both must alike from Heav'n derive their light,
These born to judge, as well as those to write.
Let such teach others who themselves excel,
And censure freely who have written well;
Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true,
But are not Critics to their judgment too?
Yet if we look more closely, we shall find
Most have the seeds of judgment in their mind:
Nature affords at least a glimm'ring light;
The lines, tho' touch'd but faintly, are drawn right:
But as the slightest sketch, if justly traced,
Is by ill col'ring but the more disgraced,
So by false learning is good sense defaced:
Some are bewilder'd in the maze of schools,
And some made coxcombs Nature meant but fools:
In search of wit these lose their common sense,
And then turn Critics in their own defence:
Each burns alike, who can or cannot write,
Or with a rival's or an eunuch's spite.
All fools have still an itching to deride,
And fain would be upon the laughing side.
If Mævius scribble in Apollo's spite,
There are who judge still worse than he can write.
Some have at first for Wits, then Poets pass'd;
Turn'd Critics next, and prov'd plain Fools at last.
Some neither can for Wits nor Critics pass,
As heavy mules are neither horse nor ass.
Those half-learn'd witlings, numerous in our isle,
As half-form'd insects on the banks of Nile;
Unfinish'd things, one knows not what to call,
[...] Read more
poem by Alexander Pope
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Loneliness
There're many things in life i can endure,
One such thing is poverty.
But loneliness, loneliness,
Is one thing i can't endure.
There're many things in the world i can endure,
One such thing is humility.
But loneliness, (loneliness) loneliness, (loneliness)
Is something i can't endure.
How could i stand loneliness, loneliness?
How are you suppose to cope with loneliness, loneliness?
How would one live with loneliness, loneliness, lo-oh-loneliness?
(oh, loneliness)
There are many things in time and space i can endure,
In fact, i can endure most anything.
But loneliness, (loneliness) loneliness, (loneliness)
Is something i can't endure.
How could i stand loneliness, loneliness?
How are you suppose to cope with loneliness, loneliness?
How would one live with loneliness, loneliness, lo-oh-loneliness?
Lo-oh-loneliness.
(loneliness, so lonely)
(loneliness, so lonely)
(loneliness, so lonely)
(loneliness, so lonely)
(loneliness, so lonely)
(loneliness, so lonely)
(loneliness, so lonely)
(loneliness, so lonely)
(loneliness, so lonely)
song performed by Yoko Ono
Added by Lucian Velea
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Ecstasy
They call you ecstasy
Nothing ever sticks to you
Not velcro, not scotch tape
Not my arms dipped in glue
Not if I wrap myself in nylon
A piece of duct tape down my back
Love pierced the arrow with the twelve
And I cant get you back
Ah, ecstasy
Ecstasy
Ah, ecstasy
Across the streets an old ford, they took off its wheels
The engine is gone
In its seat sits a box
With a note that says, goodbye charlie, thanks a lot
I see a child through a window with a bib
And I think of us and what we almost did
The hudson rocketing with light
The ships pass the statue of liberty at night
They call it ecstasy, ah
Ecstasy
Ecstasy, ah
Ecstasy
Some men call me st. ivory
Some call me st. maurice
Im smooth as alabaster
With white veins runnin through my cheeks
A big stud through my eyebrow
A scar on my arm that says, domain
I put it over the tattoo
That contained your name
They called you ecstasy, ecstasy
Ecstasy
They call you ecstasy, ecstasy
Ecstasy
The moon passing through a cloud
A body facing up is floating towards a crowd
And I think of a time and what I couldnt do
I couldnt hold you close, I couldnt, I couldnt become you
They call you ecstasy, I cant hold you down
I cant hold you up
I feel like that car that I saw today, no radio
No engine, no hood
Im going to the cafe, I hope theyve got music
And I hope that they can play
But if we have to part
Ill have a new scar right over my heart
Ill call it ecstasy
Oh, ecstasy, ecstasy
Ecstasy
[...] Read more
song performed by Lou Reed
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 2
ALL were attentive to the godlike man,
When from his lofty couch he thus began:
“Great queen, what you command me to relate
Renews the sad remembrance of our fate:
An empire from its old foundations rent, 5
And ev’ry woe the Trojans underwent;
A peopled city made a desart place;
All that I saw, and part of which I was:
Not ev’n the hardest of our foes could hear,
Nor stern Ulysses tell without a tear. 10
And now the latter watch of wasting night,
And setting stars, to kindly rest invite;
But, since you take such int’rest in our woe,
And Troy’s disastrous end desire to know,
I will restrain my tears, and briefly tell 15
What in our last and fatal night befell.
“By destiny compell’d, and in despair,
The Greeks grew weary of the tedious war,
And by Minerva’s aid a fabric rear’d,
Which like a steed of monstrous height appear’d: 20
The sides were plank’d with pine; they feign’d it made
For their return, and this the vow they paid.
Thus they pretend, but in the hollow side
Selected numbers of their soldiers hide:
With inward arms the dire machine they load, 25
And iron bowels stuff the dark abode.
In sight of Troy lies Tenedos, an isle
(While Fortune did on Priam’s empire smile)
Renown’d for wealth; but, since, a faithless bay,
Where ships expos’d to wind and weather lay. 30
There was their fleet conceal’d. We thought, for Greece
Their sails were hoisted, and our fears release.
The Trojans, coop’d within their walls so long,
Unbar their gates, and issue in a throng,
Like swarming bees, and with delight survey 35
The camp deserted, where the Grecians lay:
The quarters of the sev’ral chiefs they show’d;
Here Phœnix, here Achilles, made abode;
Here join’d the battles; there the navy rode.
Part on the pile their wond’ring eyes employ: 40
The pile by Pallas rais’d to ruin Troy.
Thymoetes first (’t is doubtful whether hir’d,
Or so the Trojan destiny requir’d)
Mov’d that the ramparts might be broken down,
To lodge the monster fabric in the town. 45
But Capys, and the rest of sounder mind,
The fatal present to the flames designed,
Or to the wat’ry deep; at least to bore
The hollow sides, and hidden frauds explore.
The giddy vulgar, as their fancies guide, 50
[...] Read more
poem by Publius Vergilius Maro
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Sympathy is worse than death….
Sympathy makes an organism feel dreadfully weak—as if the world around it had metamorphosed into a coffin of morose blackness; though an infinite streams of scarlet blood still ran enthusiastically through each of its blessed veins,
Sympathy makes an organism feel lividly inferior—with every living being in vicinity appearing to be a boundless times stronger; though they both were royally equal by the grace of the unparalleled Omnipotent Lord,
Sympathy makes an organism inadvertently lick decrepit dust—whereas it should’ve been unflinching marching forward in the fervor of bustling youth; head held high with its compatriot organism and only bowing down before the Lord Almighty,
Sympathy makes an organism a veritably devilish parasite-forever leaning and sucking upon its good-willed befriender; though volcano’s of latent energy itched to fulminate from each of its robustly handsome veins,
Sympathy makes an organism wholesomely lose its own voice—as it started to profusely relish the extravagant attention and care; preferred to fantasize about the things that it’d like to do in life; rather than honestly sweat it out and reach there,
Sympathy makes an organism overwhelmingly finicky and fastidious about the tiniest of things—again and again finding faults with the most majestically perfect of creation; as there was always a person to wholesomely commiserate with its every eccentricity and peevish demand,
Sympathy makes an organism haplessly infertile-pathetically unable to indulge into even the most sensuously bountiful pleasures of life; as inevitable habit compelled it to let others complete its job of proliferating its very own kin,
Sympathy makes an organism miserably fail again and again-as the inexplicably stabbing blackness that it’d enshrouded itself with; incorrigibly denied any beam of optimistic sunlight to triumphantly creep in,
Sympathy makes an organism look frenetically naked even when fully clothed-as it indefatigably kept begging for being fed even that morsel of food; which lay copiously sprawled right into the center of its palms,
Sympathy makes an organism an irrefutable devil on the prowl-inexhaustibly searching for that shoulder to baselessly weep; and then disgustingly sleep-float in an unfathomable ocean of tears,
Sympathy makes an organism a dreadfully unbearable burden upon the planet-as it neither wholesomely died nor lived; just kept flagrantly loitering in-between the dormitories of certainty and uncertainty,
Sympathy makes an organism hopelessly deteriorate into nothingness with every unleashing minute—as his unstoppably taking the support of others; made his very own spine rust and eventually crumble to inconspicuous dust,
Sympathy makes an organism an irrevocably maimed beggar—as he shamefully lost all his ability to sight; hear and fearlessly speak; wantonly clinging like a deplorable leech to the panic button of every second person on the street,
Sympathy makes an organism a coffin of cursed negativity-spreading the wretched stench of satanic dependency upon every step that he dared tread; and thereby maligning the true spirit of symbiotically independent life,
Sympathy makes an organism lose all priceless self respect-an attribute which was profoundly embedded in each of its veins just like an infinite other of its counterpart; right since its very first divinely breath,
Sympathy makes an organism look like an invisible ghost infront of the mirror-such an abominable jinx that was impossible to break; once it surreptitiously passed itself on upon another equally insipid organism,
Sympathy makes an organism come to such an exasperating stage—that it started to unceasingly ridicule its very ownself; as there virtually none else in this world who was as inconsolably sick and helpless as its rapidly flailing form,
Sympathy makes an organism come to an earth-screeching lifeless halt—as after a period of time every door on the Universe brutally shut up on its deliberately tear stained face; and that’s when the true reality and hardship of life hit it right in the center of its eye,
And sympathy makes an organism entirely dead even in the heart of exuberantly infallible life-a lifelessly fetid carcass which was spat upon and shunted by every section of the society; even before it could try lifting its very first footstep on soil by itself…
poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Whistling In The Dark
A woman came up to me and said
Id like to poison your mind
With wrong ideas that appeal to you
Though I am not unkind
She looked at me, I looked at something
Written across her scalp
And these are the words that it faintly said
As I tried to call for help:
Theres only one thing that I know how to do well
And Ive often been told that you only can do
What you know how to do well
And thats be you,
Be what youre like,
Be like yourself,
And so Im having a wonderful time
But Id rather be whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Theres only one thing that I like
And that is whistling in the dark
A man came up to me and said
Id like to change your mind
By hitting it with a rock, he said,
Though I am not unkind.
We laughed at his little joke
And then I happily walked away
And hit my head on the wall of the jail
Where the two of us live today.
Theres only one thing that I know how to do well
And Ive often been told that you only can do
What you know how to do well
And thats be you,
Be what youre like,
Be like yourself,
And so Im having a wonderful time
But Id rather be whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Theres only one thing that I like
And that is whistling in the dark
Theres only one thing that I know how to do well
And Ive often been told that you only can do
What you know how to do well
And thats be you,
[...] Read more
song performed by They Might Be Giants
Added by Lucian Velea
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Economy, A Rhapsody, Addressed to Young Poets
Insanis; omnes gelidis quaecunqne lacernis
Sunt tibi, Nasones Virgiliosque vides.
~Mart.
Imitation.
--Thou know'st not what thou say'st;
In garments that scarce fence them from the cold
Our Ovids and our Virgils you behold.
Part first.
To you, ye Bards! whose lavish breast requires
This monitory lay, the strains belong;
Nor think some miser vents his sapient saw,
Or some dull cit, unfeeling of the charms
That tempt profusion, sings; while friendly Zeal,
To guard from fatal ills the tribe he loves,
Inspires the meanest of the Muse's train!
Like you I loathe the grovelling progeny,
Whose wily arts, by creeping time matured,
Advance them high on Power's tyrannic throne,
To lord it there in gorgeous uselessness,
And spurn successless Worth that pines below!
See the rich churl, amid the social sons
Of wine and wit, regaling! hark, he joins
In the free jest delighted! seems to show
A meliorated heart! he laughs, he sings!
Songs of gay import, madrigals of glee,
And drunken anthems, set agape the board,
Like Demea, in the play, benign and mild,
And pouring forth benevolence of soul,
Till Micio wonder; or, in Shakspeare's line,
Obstreperous Silence, drowning Shallow's voice,
And startling Falstaff, and his mad compeers.
He owns 'tis prudence, ever and anon
To smooth his careful brow, to let his purse
Ope to a sixpence's diameter!
He likes our ways; he owns the ways of wit
Are ways of pleasance, and deserve regard.
True, we are dainty good society,
But what art thou? Alas! consider well,
Thou bane of social pleasure, know thyself:
Thy fell approach, like some invasive damp
Breathed through the pores of earth from Stygian caves
Destroys the lamp of mirth; the lamp which we,
Its flamens, boast to guard: we know not how,
But at thy sight the fading flame assumes
A ghastly blue, and in a stench expires.
True, thou seem'st changed; all sainted, all enskied:
The trembling tears that charge thy melting eyes
[...] Read more
poem by William Shenstone
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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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The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 10
THE GATES of heav’n unfold: Jove summons all
The gods to council in the common hall.
Sublimely seated, he surveys from far
The fields, the camp, the fortune of the war,
And all th’ inferior world. From first to last, 5
The sov’reign senate in degrees are plac’d.
Then thus th’ almighty sire began: “Ye gods,
Natives or denizens of blest abodes,
From whence these murmurs, and this change of mind,
This backward fate from what was first design’d? 10
Why this protracted war, when my commands
Pronounc’d a peace, and gave the Latian lands?
What fear or hope on either part divides
Our heav’ns, and arms our powers on diff’rent sides?
A lawful time of war at length will come, 15
(Nor need your haste anticipate the doom),
When Carthage shall contend the world with Rome,
Shall force the rigid rocks and Alpine chains,
And, like a flood, come pouring on the plains.
Then is your time for faction and debate, 20
For partial favor, and permitted hate.
Let now your immature dissension cease;
Sit quiet, and compose your souls to peace.”
Thus Jupiter in few unfolds the charge;
But lovely Venus thus replies at large: 25
“O pow’r immense, eternal energy,
(For to what else protection can we fly?)
Seest thou the proud Rutulians, how they dare
In fields, unpunish’d, and insult my care?
How lofty Turnus vaunts amidst his train, 30
In shining arms, triumphant on the plain?
Ev’n in their lines and trenches they contend,
And scarce their walls the Trojan troops defend:
The town is fill’d with slaughter, and o’erfloats,
With a red deluge, their increasing moats. 35
Æneas, ignorant, and far from thence,
Has left a camp expos’d, without defense.
This endless outrage shall they still sustain?
Shall Troy renew’d be forc’d and fir’d again?
A second siege my banish’d issue fears, 40
And a new Diomede in arms appears.
One more audacious mortal will be found;
And I, thy daughter, wait another wound.
Yet, if with fates averse, without thy leave,
The Latian lands my progeny receive, 45
Bear they the pains of violated law,
And thy protection from their aid withdraw.
But, if the gods their sure success foretell;
If those of heav’n consent with those of hell,
To promise Italy; who dare debate 50
[...] Read more
poem by Publius Vergilius Maro
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The Loves of the Angels
'Twas when the world was in its prime,
When the fresh stars had just begun
Their race of glory and young Time
Told his first birth-days by the sun;
When in the light of Nature's dawn
Rejoicing, men and angels met
On the high hill and sunny lawn,-
Ere sorrow came or Sin had drawn
'Twixt man and heaven her curtain yet!
When earth lay nearer to the skies
Than in these days of crime and woe,
And mortals saw without surprise
In the mid-air angelic eyes
Gazing upon this world below.
Alas! that Passion should profane
Even then the morning of the earth!
That, sadder still, the fatal stain
Should fall on hearts of heavenly birth-
And that from Woman's love should fall
So dark a stain, most sad of all!
One evening, in that primal hour,
On a hill's side where hung the ray
Of sunset brightening rill and bower,
Three noble youths conversing lay;
And, as they lookt from time to time
To the far sky where Daylight furled
His radiant wing, their brows sublime
Bespoke them of that distant world-
Spirits who once in brotherhood
Of faith and bliss near ALLA stood,
And o'er whose cheeks full oft had blown
The wind that breathes from ALLA'S throne,
Creatures of light such as still play,
Like motes in sunshine, round the Lord,
And thro' their infinite array
Transmit each moment, night and day,
The echo of His luminous word!
Of Heaven they spoke and, still more oft,
Of the bright eyes that charmed them thence;
Till yielding gradual to the soft
And balmy evening's influence-
The silent breathing of the flowers-
The melting light that beamed above,
As on their first, fond, erring hours,-
Each told the story of his love,
The history of that hour unblest,
When like a bird from its high nest
[...] Read more
poem by Thomas Moore
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The Bas Bleu: Or, Conversation. Addressed To Mrs. Vesey
VESEY, of Verse the judge and friend,
Awhile my idle strain attend:
Not with the days of early Greece,
I mean to ope my slender piece;
The rare Symposium to proclaim
Which crown'd th' Athenians' social name;
Or how Aspasia's parties shone,
The first Bas-bleu at Athens known;
Where SOCRATES unbending sat,
With ALCIBIADES in chat;
And PERICLES vouchsafed to mix
Taste, wit, and mirth, with politics.
Nor need I stop my tale to show,
At least to readers such as you,
How all that Rome esteem'd polite,
Supp'd with LUCULLUS every night;
LUCULLUS, who, from Pontus come,
Brought conquests, and brought cherries home.
Name but the suppers in th' Appollo,
What classic images will follow!
How wit flew round, while each might take
Conchylia from the Lucrine lake;
And Attic Salt, and Garum Sauce,
And Lettuce from the Isle of Cos;
The first and last from Greece transplanted,
Us'd here--because the rhyme I wanted:
How pheasant's heads, with cost collected,
And Phenicopters' stood neglected,
To laugh at SCIPIO's lucky hit,
POMPEY's bon-mot, or CAESAR's wit!
Intemperance, list'ning to the tale,
Forgot the Mullet growing stale;
And Admiration, balanc'd, hung
'Twixt PEACOCKS' brains, and TULLY's tongue.
I shall not stop to dwell on these,
But be as epic as I please,
And plunge at once in medias res.
To prove that privilege I plead,
I'll quote some Greek I cannot read;
Stunn'd by Authority you yield,
And I, not reason, keep the field.
Long was Society o'er-run
By Whist, that desolating Hun;
Long did Quadrille despotic sit,
That Vandal of colloquial wit;
And Conversation's setting light
Lay half-obscur'd in Gothic night.
At length the mental shades decline,
Colloquial wit begins to shine;
Genius prevails, and Conversation
[...] Read more
poem by Hannah More
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Paradise Lost: Book 10
Mean while the heinous and despiteful act
Of Satan, done in Paradise; and how
He, in the serpent, had perverted Eve,
Her husband she, to taste the fatal fruit,
Was known in Heaven; for what can 'scape the eye
Of God all-seeing, or deceive his heart
Omniscient? who, in all things wise and just,
Hindered not Satan to attempt the mind
Of Man, with strength entire and free will armed,
Complete to have discovered and repulsed
Whatever wiles of foe or seeming friend.
For still they knew, and ought to have still remembered,
The high injunction, not to taste that fruit,
Whoever tempted; which they not obeying,
(Incurred what could they less?) the penalty;
And, manifold in sin, deserved to fall.
Up into Heaven from Paradise in haste
The angelick guards ascended, mute, and sad,
For Man; for of his state by this they knew,
Much wondering how the subtle Fiend had stolen
Entrance unseen. Soon as the unwelcome news
From Earth arrived at Heaven-gate, displeased
All were who heard; dim sadness did not spare
That time celestial visages, yet, mixed
With pity, violated not their bliss.
About the new-arrived, in multitudes
The ethereal people ran, to hear and know
How all befel: They towards the throne supreme,
Accountable, made haste, to make appear,
With righteous plea, their utmost vigilance
And easily approved; when the Most High
Eternal Father, from his secret cloud,
Amidst in thunder uttered thus his voice.
Assembled Angels, and ye Powers returned
From unsuccessful charge; be not dismayed,
Nor troubled at these tidings from the earth,
Which your sincerest care could not prevent;
Foretold so lately what would come to pass,
When first this tempter crossed the gulf from Hell.
I told ye then he should prevail, and speed
On his bad errand; Man should be seduced,
And flattered out of all, believing lies
Against his Maker; no decree of mine
Concurring to necessitate his fall,
Or touch with lightest moment of impulse
His free will, to her own inclining left
In even scale. But fallen he is; and now
What rests, but that the mortal sentence pass
On his transgression,--death denounced that day?
Which he presumes already vain and void,
[...] Read more
poem by John Milton
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Ecstasy
(eric carmen)
When I think of all your lovin, it makes me shiver
cause when I get home just wait till I get you alone
Ecstasy, when you touch me Im in ecstasy
No one else could do the thing you do
Let me please you, too, tonight
Ecstasy, when you kiss me Im in ecstasy
No one else could make me feel this way
Tell me that youll stay tonight
When you wrap your love around me and move so gently
I feel it begin, dont stop, I can feel my head spinning
Ecstasy, when you touch me Im in ecstasy
No one else could do the things you do
Let me please you, too, tonight
Ecstasy, when you kiss me Im in ecstasy
No one else could make me feel this way
Tell me that youll stay tonight
Baby, baby I just wanna make you feel the way I do
You got my back bone shakin
And my poor heart breakin in two
When I think of all your lovin, it makes me shiver
cause when I get home, just wait till I get you alone
Ecstasy, when you touch me Im in ecstasy
No one else could do the things you do
Let me please you, too, tonight
Ecstasy, when you kiss me Im in ecstasy
No one else could make me feel this way
Tell me that youll stay tonight
When you wrap your love around me and move so gently
I feel it begin, dont stop, I can feel my head spinning
Ecstasy, when you touch me Im in ecstasy
No one else could do the things you do
Let me please you, too, tonight
Ecstasy, when you kiss me Im in ecstasy
No one else could make me feel this way
Tell me that youll stay tonight.
Stay tonight, stay today!
song performed by Eric Carmen
Added by Lucian Velea
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Make It Real
Music :rudolf schenker
Lyrics:herman rarebell
You can always trust your inner feelings
cause they always tell the truth
Where did it get you, then your analyzing
Just do what feels right for you
If you take life as a crazy gamble
Throw your dice take your chance
You will see it from the different angle
And you too can join the dance
Make it real not fantasy
Fantasy
Make it real not fantasy
Fantasy oooh yeah
Did you ever have a secret yearning
Dont you know it could come true
Nows the time to set wheels turning
To open up your life for you
As you know theres always good and evil
Make your choice dont be blind
Open up your mind and dont be trivial
Theres a whole new world to find
Make it real not fantasy
Fantasy
Make it real not fantasy
Fantasy oooh yeah
Did you ever have a secret yearning
Dont you know it could come true
Nows the time to set wheels turning
To open up your life for you
If you take life as a crazy gamble
Throw your dice take your chance
You will see if from a different angle
And you too will join the dance
Make it real not fantasy
Fantasy
Make it real not fantasy
Fantasy
Make it real not fantasy
Fantasy
Make it real not fantasy
Fantasy oooh yeah
song performed by Scorpions
Added by Lucian Velea
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Metamorphoses: Book The Thirteenth
THE chiefs were set; the soldiers crown'd the
field:
To these the master of the seven-fold shield
Upstarted fierce: and kindled with disdain.
Eager to speak, unable to contain
His boiling rage, he rowl'd his eyes around
The shore, and Graecian gallies hall'd a-ground.
The Then stretching out his hands, O Jove, he cry'd,
Speeches of Must then our cause before the fleet be try'd?
Ajax and And dares Ulysses for the prize contend,
Ulysses In sight of what he durst not once defend?
But basely fled that memorable day,
When I from Hector's hands redeem'd the flaming
prey.
So much 'tis safer at the noisie bar
With words to flourish, than ingage in war.
By diff'rent methods we maintain our right,
Nor am I made to talk, nor he to fight.
In bloody fields I labour to be great;
His arms are a smooth tongue, and soft deceit:
Nor need I speak my deeds, for those you see,
The sun, and day are witnesses for me.
Let him who fights unseen, relate his own,
And vouch the silent stars, and conscious moon.
Great is the prize demanded, I confess,
But such an abject rival makes it less;
That gift, those honours, he but hop'd to gain,
Can leave no room for Ajax to be vain:
Losing he wins, because his name will be
Ennobled by defeat, who durst contend with me.
Were my known valour question'd, yet my blood
Without that plea wou'd make my title good:
My sire was Telamon, whose arms, employ'd
With Hercules, these Trojan walls destroy'd;
And who before with Jason sent from Greece,
In the first ship brought home the golden fleece.
Great Telamon from Aeacus derives
His birth (th' inquisitor of guilty lives
In shades below; where Sisyphus, whose son
This thief is thought, rouls up the restless heavy
stone),
Just Aeacus, the king of Gods above
Begot: thus Ajax is the third from Jove.
Nor shou'd I seek advantage from my line,
Unless (Achilles) it was mix'd with thine:
As next of kin, Achilles' arms I claim;
This fellow wou'd ingraft a foreign name
Upon our stock, and the Sisyphian seed
By fraud, and theft asserts his father's breed:
Then must I lose these arms, because I came
[...] Read more
The Undying One- Canto III
'THERE is a sound the autumn wind doth make
Howling and moaning, listlessly and low:
Methinks that to a heart that ought to break
All the earth's voices seem to murmur so.
The visions that crost
Our path in light--
The things that we lost
In the dim dark night--
The faces for which we vainly yearn--
The voices whose tones will not return--
That low sad wailing breeze doth bring
Borne on its swift and rushing wing.
Have ye sat alone when that wind was loud,
And the moon shone dim from the wintry cloud?
When the fire was quench'd on your lonely hearth,
And the voices were still which spoke of mirth?
If such an evening, tho' but one,
It hath been yours to spend alone--
Never,--though years may roll along
Cheer'd by the merry dance and song;
Though you mark'd not that bleak wind's sound before,
When louder perchance it used to roar--
Never shall sound of that wintry gale
Be aught to you but a voice of wail!
So o'er the careless heart and eye
The storms of the world go sweeping by;
But oh! when once we have learn'd to weep,
Well doth sorrow his stern watch keep.
Let one of our airy joys decay--
Let one of our blossoms fade away--
And all the griefs that others share
Seem ours, as well as theirs, to bear:
And the sound of wail, like that rushing wind
Shall bring all our own deep woe to mind!
'I went through the world, but I paused not now
At the gladsome heart and the joyous brow:
I went through the world, and I stay'd to mark
Where the heart was sore, and the spirit dark:
And the grief of others, though sad to see,
Was fraught with a demon's joy to me!
'I saw the inconstant lover come to take
Farewell of her he loved in better days,
And, coldly careless, watch the heart-strings break--
Which beat so fondly at his words of praise.
She was a faded, painted, guilt-bow'd thing,
Seeking to mock the hues of early spring,
When misery and years had done their worst
[...] Read more
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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Hot Wit U
Hot wit U
CHORUS:
I wanna get hot wit U
Get U underneath the cream and ooh
Get U doin' things U thought U'd never do
Make U suck your tongue and say, "Ooh!"
I wanna get hot wit U
Take U upstairs 2 the 14th room
Multicolored lights and an ocean view
Ooh, I wanna get hot wit U
I wanna get hot wit U, I wanna get hot wit U {x2}
I want 2 get hot with U
I wanna get U underneath the cream and do the marshmallow
Ooh I wanna get hot with U
I wanna get U 2 do something
U thought U'd never do
Like dance in front of my headlights
On a hot summer night - nude
I wanna get hot with U
CHORUS
I want 2 get hot with U
I wanna make U climb this chain around my waist so I can prove
That I'm the only one that brings out the freak in U
I want 2 get hot with U
I wanna get hot wit U, I wanna get hot wit U {x2}
Know the body bangin', got U singin'
No shouts from the neighbors, telephone ringin'
Put me in positions thought I'd never do proper
Created a machine, now U know U can't stop her
Tryin' 2 turn me out, it never happen, so stop this
I'm suppose 2 tremble cuz they call U "The Artist"?
Let's wild out - can U handle ruff ridin'?
Treat U like the freak of the week and had U hidin' from me
I'd do whatever U like if U could take it
If I could be your girlfriend, U could catch me naked
Can't front sexually, I'd like a sample
But I don't think that I'm ready 4 U 2 make me an example
I mean - come on - why front on
I'd never place time - queen of your life
I'm there, whenever
The things that U're feeling 4 me - mutual
But I'm ready 2 call U daddy, even get hot wit U
Meet me early morning (Meet me in the morning, baby)
In a 4th dimension plane (In a 4th dimension plane)
Astral travelin' hottie, (Hottie hottie) I know U know my game
Underneath the cream I'll meet U (I'll U meet down there)
And then we'll rearrange (Turn the child 'round)
Everything U know of love (Everything)
I'll give U reason 2 change
Hot wit U, I wanna get hot wit U (Wanna wanna)
[...] Read more
song performed by Prince
Added by Lucian Velea
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Hudibras: Part 1 - Canto I
THE ARGUMENT
Sir Hudibras his passing worth,
The manner how he sallied forth;
His arms and equipage are shown;
His horse's virtues, and his own.
Th' adventure of the bear and fiddle
Is sung, but breaks off in the middle.
When civil dudgeon a first grew high,
And men fell out they knew not why?
When hard words, jealousies, and fears,
Set folks together by the ears,
And made them fight, like mad or drunk,
For Dame Religion, as for punk;
Whose honesty they all durst swear for,
Though not a man of them knew wherefore:
When Gospel-Trumpeter, surrounded
With long-ear'd rout, to battle sounded,
And pulpit, drum ecclesiastick,
Was beat with fist, instead of a stick;
Then did Sir Knight abandon dwelling,
And out he rode a colonelling.
A wight he was, whose very sight wou'd
Entitle him Mirror of Knighthood;
That never bent his stubborn knee
To any thing but Chivalry;
Nor put up blow, but that which laid
Right worshipful on shoulder-blade;
Chief of domestic knights and errant,
Either for cartel or for warrant;
Great on the bench, great in the saddle,
That could as well bind o'er, as swaddle;
Mighty he was at both of these,
And styl'd of war, as well as peace.
(So some rats, of amphibious nature,
Are either for the land or water).
But here our authors make a doubt
Whether he were more wise, or stout:
Some hold the one, and some the other;
But howsoe'er they make a pother,
The diff'rence was so small, his brain
Outweigh'd his rage but half a grain;
Which made some take him for a tool
That knaves do work with, call'd a fool,
And offer to lay wagers that
As MONTAIGNE, playing with his cat,
Complains she thought him but an ass,
Much more she wou'd Sir HUDIBRAS;
[...] Read more
poem by Samuel Butler
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