The all-new quote thread

Discussion of other topics not necessarily Keats or poetry-related, i.e. other authors, literature, film, music, the arts etc.

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Postby Falina » Fri Nov 10, 2006 10:11 am

I'm not (yet) sure what to think of "Moby Dick", but I like this one :) :

Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Hem! clear my throat! - I've been thinking over it ever since, and that ha, ha's the final consequence. Why so? Because a laugh's the wisest, easiest answer to all that's queer

Stubb in Hermann Melville's "Moby Dick"
We are like frost flowers, we blossom at night...
We are like frost flowers, too beautiful for the day...
(Subway to Sally)
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Postby Saturn » Fri Nov 10, 2006 10:19 am

Falina wrote:Why so? Because a laugh's the wisest, easiest answer to all that's queer[/i]



It certainly is.

Here's another one on laughter:

“…since life at most a jest is,
As philosophers allow,
Still to laugh the best is,
Then laugh on – as I do now.
Laugh at all things,
Great and small things,
Sick or well, sea or shore…”
~Byron, From Lines to Mr. Hodgson, 69-75.
"Oh what a misery it is to have an intellect in splints".
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Postby Malia » Thu Nov 16, 2006 4:02 am

Looking through my bookshelves tonight in search of an inspirational story and/or quote with which to begin one of my leadership papers, I re-discovered a treasure of a book I bought a few years ago. It is a collection of poems by Rumi, a Turkish poet and dervish from the 13th century. Here are a few of my favorites.

When compassion fills my heart,
free from all desire,
I sit quietly like the earth.
My silent cry echoes like thunder
throughout the universe.


The time has come to turn your heart
into a temple of fire.
Your essence is gold hidden in dust.
To reveal its splendor
you need to burn in the fire of love.
Stay Awake!
--Anthony deMello
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Postby Malia » Fri Nov 17, 2006 5:50 pm

Another great quote:

Nothing in the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and consciencious stupidity.

Martin Luther King, Jr.


And here's one that I think is hillarious--it's not a quote so much as an add the Antartic explorer Sir Ernest Shackleton wrote in a bid to recruit men for his trip to the South Pole(P.S.--it worked!):


MEN WANTED: FOR HAZARDOUS JOURNEY. SMALL WAGES, BITTER COLD, LONG MONTHS OF COMPLETE DARKNESS, CONSTANT DANGER, SAFE RETURN DOUBTFUL. HONOUR AND RECOGNITION IN CASE OF SUCCESS.

Apocryphal newspaper advertisement for 1914 Antartic Expedition, attribtuted to Sir Ernest Shackleton.
Stay Awake!
--Anthony deMello
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Postby Malia » Fri Nov 17, 2006 6:30 pm

I think I'm goin' quote crazy today :) Here's another one from one of my favorite sages and educators, Mr. Parker Palmer:

"We share responsibility for creating the external world by projecting either a spirit of light or a spirit of shadow on that which is other than us. We project either a spirit of hope or a spirit of despair, either an inner confidence in wholeness and integration or an inner terror about life being diseased and ultimately terminal. We have a choice about what we are going to project, and in that choice we help create the world that is. Consciousness preceeds being, and consciousness can help deform or reform our world."

Parker Palmer, from the essay "Leading from Within"
Last edited by Malia on Fri Nov 17, 2006 7:01 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Stay Awake!
--Anthony deMello
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Postby dks » Fri Nov 17, 2006 6:57 pm

I like that, Miss Malia--very uplifting... :wink:
"I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections and the Truth of Imagination."
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Postby Saturn » Mon Nov 20, 2006 11:00 am

Back to Shakey's sonnets:

CV.

Let not my love be call'd idolatry,
Nor my beloved as an idol show,
Since all alike my songs and praises be
To one, of one, still such, and ever so.
Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind,
Still constant in a wondrous excellence;
Therefore my verse to constancy confined,
One thing expressing, leaves out difference.
'Fair, kind and true' is all my argument,
'Fair, kind, and true' varying to other words;
And in this change is my invention spent,
Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords.
'Fair, kind, and true,' have often lived alone,
Which three till now never kept seat in one.
"Oh what a misery it is to have an intellect in splints".
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Postby Saturn » Wed Nov 22, 2006 10:25 am

Here's perhaps the greatest of the sonnets in my opinion:

CVI.

When in the chronicle of wasted time
I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme
In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights,
Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
I see their antique pen would have express'd
Even such a beauty as you master now.
So all their praises are but prophecies
Of this our time, all you prefiguring;
And, for they look'd but with divining eyes,
They had not skill enough your worth to sing:
For we, which now behold these present days,
Had eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.
"Oh what a misery it is to have an intellect in splints".
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Postby Saturn » Sun Nov 26, 2006 2:22 am

Dejection: An Ode

I

Well! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made
The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence,
This night, so tranquil now, will not go hence
Unroused by winds, that ply a busier trade
Than those which mould yon cloud in lazy flakes,
Or the dull sobbing draft, that moans and rakes
Upon the strings of this Aeolian lute,
Which better far were mute.
For lo! the New-moon winter-bright!
And overspread with phantom light,
(With swimming phantom light o'erspread
But rimmed and circled by a silver thread)
I see the old Moon in her lap, foretelling
The coming-on of rain and squally blast.
And oh! that even now the gust were swelling,
And the slant night-shower driving loud and fast!
Those sounds which oft have raised me, whilst they awed,
And sent my soul abroad,
Might now perhaps their wonted impulse give,
Might startle this dull pain, and make it move and live!

II

A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear,
A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief,
Which finds no natural outlet, no relief,
In word, or sigh, or tear -
O Lady! in this wan and heartless mood,
To other thoughts by yonder throstle wooed,
All this long eve, so balmy and serene,
Have I been gazing on the western sky,
And its peculiar tint of yellow green:
And still I gaze -and with how blank an eye!
And those thin clouds above, in flakes and bars,
That give away their motion to the stars;
Those stars, that glide behind them or between,
Now sparkling, now bedimmed, but always seen:
Yon crescent Moon, as fixed as if it grew
In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue;
I see them all so excellently fair,
I see, not feel, how beautiful they are!

III

My genial spirits fail;
And what can these avail
To lift the smothering weight from off my breast?
It were a vain endeavour,
Though I should gaze forever
On that green light that lingers in the west:
I may not hope from outward forms to win
The passion and the life, whose fountains are within.

IV

O Lady! we receive but what we give,
And in our life alone does Nature live:
Ours is her wedding-garment, ours her shroud!
And would we aught behold, of higher worth,
Than that inanimate cold world allowed
To the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd,
Ah! from the soul itself must issue forth
A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud
Enveloping the Earth -
And from the soul itself must there be sent
A sweet and potent voice, of its own birth,
Of all sweet sounds the life and element!

V

O pure of heart! thou need'st not ask of me
What this strong music in the soul may be!
What, and wherein it doth exist,
This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist,
This beautiful and beauty-making power.
Joy, virtuous Lady! Joy that ne'er was given,
Save to the pure, and in their purest hour,
Life, and Life's effluence, cloud at once and shower,
Joy, Lady! is the spirit and the power,
Which wedding Nature to us gives in dower,
A new Earth and new Heaven,
Undreamt of by the sensual and the proud -
Joy is the sweet voice, Joy the luminous cloud -
We in ourselves rejoice!
And thence flows all that charms or ear or sight,
All melodies the echoes of that voice,
All colours a suffusion from that light.

VI

There was a time when, though my path was rough,
This joy within me dallied with distress,
And all misfortunes were but as the stuff
Whence Fancy made me dreams of happiness:
For hope grew round me, like the twining vine,
And fruits, and foliage, not my own, seemed mine.
But now afflictions bow me down to earth:
Nor care I that they rob me of my mirth;
But oh! each visitation
Suspends what Nature gave me at my birth,
My shaping spirit of Imagination.
For not to think of what I needs must feel,
But to be still and patient, all I can;
And haply by abstruse research to steal
From my own nature all the natural man -
This was my sole resource, my only plan:
Till that which suits a part infects the whole,
And now is almost grown the habit of my soul.

VII

Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around my mind,
Reality's dark dream!
I turn from you, and listen to the wind,
Which long has raved unnoticed. What a scream
Of agony by torture lengthened out
That lute sent forth! Thou Wind, that rav'st without,
Bare crag, or mountain-tairn, or blasted tree,
Or pine-grove whither woodman never clomb,
Or lonely house, long held the witches' home,
Methinks were fitter instruments for thee,
Mad Lutanist! who in this month of showers,
Of dark-brown gardens, and of peeping flowers,
Mak'st Devils' yule, with worse than wintry song,
The blossoms, buds, and timorous leaves among.
Thou actor, perfect in all tragic sounds!
Thou mighty poet, e'en to frenzy bold!
What tell'st thou now about?
'Tis of the rushing of an host in rout,
With groans, of trampled men, with smarting wounds -
At once they groan with pain, and shudder with the cold!
But hush! there is a pause of deepest silence!
And all that noise, as of a rushing crowd,
With groans, and tremulous shudderings -all is over -
It tells another tale, with sounds less deep and loud!
A tale of less affright,
And tempered with delight,
As Otway's self had framed the tender lay -
'Tis of a little child
Upon a lonesome wild,
Not far from home, but she hath lost her way:
And now moans low in bitter grief and fear,
And now screams loud, and hopes to make her mother hear.

VIII

'Tis midnight, but small thoughts have I of sleep:
Full seldom may my friend such vigils keep!
Visit her, gentle Sleep! with wings of healing,
And may this storm be but a mountain-birth,
May all the stars hang bright above her dwelling,
Silent as though they watched the sleeping Earth!
With light heart may she rise,
Gay fancy, cheerful eyes,
Joy lift her spirit, joy attune her voice;
To her may all things live, from pole to pole,
Their life the eddying of her living soul!
O simple spirit, guided from above,
Dear Lady! friend devoutest of my choice,
Thus mayst thou ever, evermore rejoice.
~Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
"Oh what a misery it is to have an intellect in splints".
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Postby Saturn » Fri Dec 01, 2006 12:05 pm

Artist: The Kooks
Album: Inside In / Inside Out
Year: 2006
Title: You Don't Love Me


Oh you don't love me the way that I love you
Cause if you did girl you would not do those things you do
You kill my heart just to see if I will rise
Above your anger and above your lies

And all I see of you
Is when you're not so busy
Oh you're not so busy

And you don't love me the way that I love you
Cause if you did girl you would not do the things you do
You turned my life around and for that I am glad, oh
However much I love you, this love is getting bad

And oh my darling you could chose
The words that only you could use
But you know you'll always be my girl, oh girl
I'd take you out just for a bite
And show you all the city sights
But you know you'll always be my girl, girl

But you don't love me the way that I love you, oh
Cause if you did boy you would not do those things you do
You kill my heart just to see if I will rise, oh
Above your anger and above your lies

But all I see of you
Is when you're not so busy
Oh you're not so busy, yeah

Yeah yeah
Do do do

If you don't love me you don't care
You don't love me you don't care
Cause you don't love me you don't care
You don't love me you don't care
"Oh what a misery it is to have an intellect in splints".
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Postby Saturn » Sun Dec 03, 2006 7:53 pm

It is not enough to be compassionate. You must act also.
~Tao Saying~
"Oh what a misery it is to have an intellect in splints".
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Postby Saturn » Wed Dec 06, 2006 10:41 am

Again with Shakespeare's sonnets:

CXII.

Your love and pity doth the impression fill
Which vulgar scandal stamp'd upon my brow;
For what care I who calls me well or ill,
So you o'er-green my bad, my good allow?
You are my all the world, and I must strive
To know my shames and praises from your tongue:
None else to me, nor I to none alive,
That my steel'd sense or changes right or wrong.
In so profound abysm I throw all care
Of others' voices, that my adder's sense
To critic and to flatterer stopped are.
Mark how with my neglect I do dispense:
You are so strongly in my purpose bred
That all the world besides methinks are dead.
"Oh what a misery it is to have an intellect in splints".
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Postby Saturn » Fri Dec 08, 2006 12:03 pm

Here's some Pier Paolo Pasolini, the Italian poet, and film director for you:

“…each day I nearly kill myself

just to live. But though
desolated, disinherited
I possess (and it’s the most exalting

bourgeois possession of all) the most
absolute condition. But while I possess history,
it possesses me. I’m illuminated by it;

but what’s the use of such light?”

“The crying is for what changes, even if
to become something better. The light
of the future doesn’t cease for even an instant

to wound us: it is here to
brand us in all our daily deeds
with anxiety even in the confidence

that gives us life…”
-From il pianto della scavatrice

“Death is not
in not being able to communicate
but in no longer being able to be understood.”
From una disperata vitalità

“Solitude: you must be very strong
to love solitude; you have to have good legs
and uncommon resistance; you must avoid catching
colds, flu, sore throat; and you must not fear
thieves and murderers; if you have to walk
all afternoon or even all evening
you must do it with ease; there’s no sitting down,
especially in winter, with wind striking the wet grass,
and damp mud-caked stone slabs among garbage;
there’s no real consolation, none at all,
beyond having a whole day and night ahead of you
with absolutely no duties or limits.”
From versi del testamento
"Oh what a misery it is to have an intellect in splints".
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Postby Saturn » Wed Dec 13, 2006 10:22 am

Another sonnet from old Shakey:

CXV.

Those lines that I before have writ do lie,
Even those that said I could not love you dearer:
Yet then my judgment knew no reason why
My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer.
But reckoning time, whose million'd accidents
Creep in 'twixt vows and change decrees of kings,
Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intents,
Divert strong minds to the course of altering things;
Alas, why, fearing of time's tyranny,
Might I not then say 'Now I love you best,'
When I was certain o'er incertainty,
Crowning the present, doubting of the rest?
Love is a babe; then might I not say so,
To give full growth to that which still doth grow?
"Oh what a misery it is to have an intellect in splints".
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Postby dks » Sun Dec 17, 2006 3:51 am

ahhh, such a perfect poem for tonight--I fling out this dedication...so beautiful...

All, that I know
Of a certain star
Is, it can throw
(Like the angled spar)
Now a dart of red,
Now a dart of blue
Till my friends have said
They would fain see, too,
My star that dartles the red and the blue!
Then it stops like a bird; like a flower, hangs furled:
They must solace themselves with the Saturn above it.
What matter to me if their star is a world?
Mine has opened its soul to me; therefore I love it.


Robert Browning
"I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections and the Truth of Imagination."
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