Любими мисли, поезия, крилати фрази..., който иска нека си ги сподели Опции

[In Death's E...]

Why did I laugh tonight? No voice will tell:
No God, no Demon of severe response,
Deigns to reply from Heaven or from Hell.
Then to my human heart I turn at once.
Heart! Thou and I are here, sad and alone;
I say, why did I laugh? O mortal pain!
O Darkness! Darkness! ever must I moan,
To question Heaven and Hell and Heart in vain.
Why did I laugh? I know this Being's lease,
My fancy to its utmost blisses spreads;
Yet would I on this very midnight cease,
And the world's gaudy ensigns see in shreds;
Verse, Fame, and Beauty are intense indeed,
But Death intenser -Death is Life's high meed.
John Keats


Ode on Melancholy
No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist
Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kissed
By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
Nor let the beetle nor the death-moth be
Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
A partner in your sorrow's mysteries;
For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.

But when the melancholy fit shall fall
Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
Or on the wealth of globed peonies;
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
Imprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.

She dwells with Beauty -Beauty that must die;
And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
Ay, in the very temple of Delight
Veiled Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine:
His soul shall taste the sadness of her might,
And be among her cloudy trophies hung.
John Keats

[Mandor of Chaos]

ето от любимите ми неща
The Raven (by Edgar Allan Poe)
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow will he leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

[TerminalFrost]

Shakespeare, Richard III

"No beast so fierce, but knows some touch of pity. But I know none, and therefore I am no beast."

[Arq]

"Не е позволено балон и момче да говорят с кофа и момича, ако слон и кокиче стъпчат мече с дайре!"

[Mandor of Chaos]

"Не е позволено балон и момче да говорят с кофа и момича, ако слон и кокиче стъпчат мече с дайре!"

йесссс ! инж. Донев за президент
ма все пак това е супер игра за всички възрасти

[snowstorm]

"Толкова очевидно, че направо бие на очи."
"Това е така, защото е точно така."

[Alti]

"котката е гост в къщи-кучето е член на семейството"

[Mago De Oz]

"Котката гледа човек с презрение, кучето с обожание, а прасето като равен !"

Уинстън Чърчил

[eternal_eyes]

Не знам дали са пускани:

I'd rather be hated for who I am than loved for I am not.

PEACE.It doesn't mean to be in a place where there is no noice,trouble or hard work.It means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart.

[lodborg]

Крушата не пада по-далеч от сливата.

[Aglarana]

Ето нещо, което получих като валентинка за един St. Valentine's Day Срамота е, че чак сега се заинтересувах откъде е било!


Рисунка


Отдавна на земята си родена,
но аз отново днес ще те създам.
Да бъдеш първата любов за мене,
аз нови чувства ще ти дам.

Ще ти предложа закъсняла среща
и тя ще бъде първата за нас.
Очите ми са две венчални свещи,
които чакат сватбения час.

Подай ръка. Света ще стане хубав,
макар да идвам късно и суров.
Последен може в тебе да се влюбя,
но ще ти върна първата любов.


Евтим Евтимов
/Из “Любовна лирика - Нощи”/

[noel_f]

"Котката гледа човек с презрение, кучето с обожание, а прасето като равен !"

Уинстън Чърчил

[SepulTeraHead]

Минеш ли метър, чака те напред.
- не знам кой

[snowstorm]

МЪНЪ
казано от мен, тук и сега

[Revenant]

"Единственото по-лошо от това да си сам е да си сам с някого"

[Duh5]

Рисунка


Отдавна на земята си родена,
но аз отново днес ще те създам.
Да бъдеш първата любов за мене,
аз нови чувства ще ти дам.

......
Евтим Евтимов
/Из “Любовна лирика - Нощи”/

ЪЪъъъ, песен, песен, ъъ, Сигнал? Васил Найденов? Ох, кой бешеее?

[abydos]

“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.”
Kahlil Gibran

About the Clutters, Perry said, "I didn't have anything against them, and they never did anything wrong to me---the way other people have all my life. Maybe they're just the ones who have to pay for it."

[scion_of_storm]

Creation came out of chaos, is surrounded by chaos and will end in chaos.
.

[Aglarana]

ЪЪъъъ, песен, песен, ъъ, Сигнал? Васил Найденов? Ох, кой бешеее?

Довечера ще проверя - забравила съм

[TerminalFrost]

INFERNO, Dante Alighieri

"There is no greater sorrow,
than to recall happiness in times of misery..."

[ZawHeR]

"Лесно е да си уникален, всеки е такъв, но е трудно да си уникален измежду уникалните"

Илко С., 2005г., начало на втора глава от книгата му.

[Lanfear]

На таблото на таксито, в което се возих днес беше залепено следното излияние :
Ако очите ми имаха зъби, много жени щяха да ходят с изпохапани задници"

[ludspamer]

"С бира, метъл и расизъм-здрав и бодър организъм!"
-Някъде някой из форума.


Бтв доколкото чух оригинала бил нещо от рода на-"С едикво-си и онанизъм-здраво тяло, бодър организъм."
Онанизма-да, определено , но не помня целия оригинал....

[abydos]

We are going to die, and that makes us the lucky ones. Most people are never going to die because they are never going to be born. The potential people who could have been standing in my place but who will never see the light of day outnumber the sand grains of Sahara - more, the atoms in the universe. Certainly those unborn ghosts include greater poets than Donne, greater scientists than Newton, greater composers than Beethoven. We know this because the set of possible people allowed by our DNA so massively outnumbers the set of actual people. In the teeth of these stupefying odds it is you and I that are privileged to be here, privileged with eyes to see where we are and brains to wonder why.

Richard Dawkins

[onnellinen]

Подписът ми.

[Divine Assassin]

Хаха - точно това чета в момента!

[Beerzebub]

Аз прочетох:
"Мъжът тъгува, когато няма храна"

Т'ва честно!

[SepulTeraHead]

Ама, като се наяде, му става мега по-тъжно после.

Какви са тия простотии, бе?

[Mago De Oz]

"Докторе, много съм болен, когато се нахраня губя апетит и ми се доспива !"

[onnellinen]

Аз прочетох:
"Мъжът тъгува, когато няма храна"

Т'ва честно!

Това като го свържа със снимките, на които все нещо ядеш, някак ме плаши

Искам да кажа, че мразя двата най-популярни цитата от Мечо Пух - 'Колкото повече - толкова повече' и 'Понякога седя и си мисля, а понякога просто си седя'.
Мечо Пух е депресар. И депресира децата. Трябва да го забранят, иначе малките ще почнат да пият успокоителни още на 15! Освен това тия философии негови са ужасно тъпи!