Vi är alla änglar med endast en vinge och bara genom att omfamna varandra kan vi flyga / Luciano De Crescenzo
Is it to love, to fix the tender gaze,
To hide the timid blush, and steal away;
To shun the busy world, and waste the day
In some rude mountain's solitary maze?
Is it to chant one name in ceaseless lays,
To hear no words that other tongues can say,
To watch the pale moon's melancholy ray,
To chide in fondness, and in folly praise?
Is it to pour th' involuntary sigh,
To dream of bliss, and wake new pangs to prove;
To talk, in fancy, with the speaking eye,
Then start with jealousy, and wildly rove;
Is it to loathe the light, and wish to die?
For these I feel,--and feel that they are Love
'Too many walls have been built in between us,
Too many dreams have been shattered around us.
If I seem to give up how will I win?
Deep in my heart I know the feeling of love within.
Do I miss you?
Not really.
I just die a little every passing day...'
Life is realizing your inner perfection / J Marsters
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever; it's loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness; but still will keep a bower quiet for us; and a sleep full of sweet dreams, and health and, quiet breathing.
Your eye may see And your ear may hear What the eye of a bee Or a rabbit's ear Are looking at and listening to Every day of the year, like you.
But the rabbit's ear Will never hear more Than it heard last year And the year before And the honey-bee's eye see no new things As it looks on the garden from spring to spring.
But while you grow, And as you change, You will come to know New meanings strange In the things you've looking at now you're young.
That, my dear, Is one reason why, With your little ear, And your little eye, You are quite unlike the rabbit and bee, Who never can change what they hear and see.
What is poetry? Who knows? Not the rose, but the scent of the rose Not the sky, but the light in the sky Not the fly, but the gleam of the fly Not the sea, but the sounds of the sea Not myself, but what makes me see, hear and feel something that prose - cannot; and what it is, who knows?
I bring you my rose. It is a golden flame. Is Love it's name? It is a scarlet fire. Is it desire? Tis the white ash of coal. Is it the soul? One, none, or all of those, I bring you my rose.
Ju äldre man blir, desto mer övertygad blir man om att Hans Heliga Majestät Slumpen sköter tre fjärdedelar av ruljangsen i detta eländiga universum. Fredrik den store
Hemligheten med att förbli ung ligger i att leva hederligt, äta långsamt och ljuga om sin ålder. Lucille Ball
Allting som jag verkligen tycker om är antingen omoraliskt, olagligt eller fettbildande. Alexander Wolcott
Intelligens kännetecknas av en naturlig oförmåga att förstå livet. Henri Bergson
Skillnaden mellan geniet och demheten är att geniet har sin begränsning. Thorvald Gahlin
Håll ögonen på dina ideal och fötterna på jorden. Jean Jaurès.
