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"Everything Starts To Finally Make Sense"323 rezultate

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40 rezultate
postu marinPM

postu marin

AutorAtelier

EVERYTHING IS POSTMARINISM! n. 15.09.1978 m. 15.09.2028 (?) www.postumarin.uv.ro

34 poezii, 0 proze

Radu DumitrescuRD

Radu Dumitrescu

AutorAtelier

Everything I think is golden - crystal, fucking beautiful shit, man. I am so fucking pure.

8 poezii, 0 proze

E

Eternity

AutorAtelier

"An expert is one who knows more and more about less and less until he knows absolutely everything about nothing"

2 poezii, 0 proze

RaduR

Radu

AutorAtelier

There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle. Albert Einstein (1879-1955)

6 poezii, 0 proze

GT

Gulambe Testa

AutorAtelier

facultatea de relatii inter-rasiale de la Capetown. liceul de arte din Capetown publicat volumul "Albastru si Negru", titlul original "fading everything to Black and Blue" - Capetown 1998

2 poezii, 0 proze

John KeatsJK

John Keats

AutorClasic

John Keats was born on 31 October 1795 (probably), first child of Thomas Keats and Frances Jennings Keats, who had apparently eloped1. Everything was pretty ordinary for all concerned for a while--the Keatses had three more sons (George and Thomas, plus Edward who died as a baby) and one daughter, Frances, by 1803. That was also the year when John went away to school at Enfield. In 1804, John\'s father was killed in a fall from a horse. Just over two months later, for mysterious reasons, Frances remarried, to a London bank clerk named William Rawlings. Frances quickly decided she\'d made some sort of terrible error and left, taking nothing with her since the laws of the time decreed that all her property and even her children belonged to her husband. Frances\' mother, Alice, swept in and took custody of the children, but she could do nothing about the Swan and Hoop, which Rawlings sold immediately before disappearing. It was around this time that John became prone to fistfights, which...

32 poezii, 0 proze

SP

Sylvia Plath

AutorClasic

Born to middle class parents in Jamaica Plain, Massachusetts, Sylvia Plath published her first poem when she was eight. Sensitive, intelligent, compelled toward perfection in everything she attempted, she was, on the surface, a model daughter, popular in school, earning straight A\'s, winning the best prizes. By the time she entered Smith College on a scholarship in 1950 she already had an impressive list of publications, and while at Smith she wrote over four hundred poems. Sylvia\'s surface perfection was however underlain by grave personal discontinuities, some of which doubtless had their origin in the death of her father (he was a college professor and an expert on bees) when she was eight. During the summer following her junior year at Smith, having returned from a stay in New York City where she had been a student ``guest editor\'\' at Mademoiselle Magazine, Sylvia nearly succeeded in killing herself by swallowing sleeping pills. She later described this experience in an...

0 poezii, 0 proze

RC

Radu Contes

AutorAtelier

The beginning of my childhood was profoundly marked by one of my grandfather’s passions – literature. For him reading, living, the writings of so many did not seem to be enough, so he began writing his own stories that still echo in my memory and in my heart. I remember that one day I went to him and asked “What are you writing about?”. Looking at me for only a second and returning his eyes at the ink stained notebook he answered: “My life”. Regretful, I confess that that was the last dialogue we had. After that I began reading, reading everything he was writing. Two years after his death, I had met someone who changed everything. I stopped reading and began writing myself. It was such a new feeling. It seemed to be never ending. It still feels. Since the first time, you may think I am exaggerating, but it really was the first time I saw her when I felt this sudden urge of writing. Words like “Thank you” seem meaningless compared to the things that you have done for me.

2 poezii, 0 proze

Adam DuritzAD

Adam Duritz

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[[eng]] Adam Duritz is an innovative lyricist and piano player who brings the same soul to his friends and lifestyle as he does to the beautiful lyrics and music that he performs. Duritz joined and performed in the Bay area band "The Himalayans" until 1991 at which time he left to form Counting Crows. Before he left, however, material was recorded which eventually lead to the release of the 2002 album "She likes the Weather". The album has a track called "round here" which was eventually re-recorded on the Counting Crows album "August and Everything After". During this period in his life he was also involved in the San Francisco based band 'Sordid Humour'. After the Himalayans lost Duritz and the Counting Crows were formed, Duritz's new band gained a huge following and the release of their acclaimed 1993 album was a huge success. The band toured extensively before heading into the studio again for the 1996 album "recovering the satelites". The album was a worthy follow up and it...

6 poezii, 0 proze

Ivan V. LaliæIL

Ivan V. Laliæ

AutorClasic

Ivan V. Laliæ (born June 8, 1931 - died July 28, 1996) was a Serbian poet with a reputation as one of the finest European poets of his time. Laliæ was born into a cultured family in Belgrade; his father, Vlajko, was a journalist, and his grandfather Isidor Bajiæ was a celebrated composer. As a child he experienced the trauma of seeing many of his school-friends perish in an air-raid. Laliæ said that "my childhood and boyhood in the war marked everything I ever wrote as a poem or poetry". Laliæ lived in both Zagreb and Belgrade, and spent the summers with his family in the Istrian town of Rovinj. He was survived by his Croatian wife, Branka, and his younger son. Laliæ was awarded with the most prestigious literary prizes in Yugoslavia. He was admired abroad and books of his poems have been translated into six languages (English, French, Italian, Polish, Hungarian and Macedonian). Individual poems have appeared in more than 20 languages. In her obituary of him, Celia Hawkesworth spoke...

1 poezii, 0 proze

Everything Starts To Finally Make Sense

de Sorana Petrescu Felicia

…Legătura pe care nu am înțeles-o. Am trăit-o doar. Frumusețea pe care am plîns-o cu atîta disperare... ca și cum ar fi fost cel mai slut păcat. Urmările unei memorii ancestrale, imposibile de...

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Oana, I love you

de Florin DeRoxas

Oana, I love you More than you know, Is no doubt about it, I am not so-so. For the moments you gave me, For being so honest and true, Oana, I love everything What belongs to you. I love your eyes, I...

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pur-if-i-care

de Petru Teodor

sunt un om pitic (but the little man understands everything) mirosul de alge putrezite și-apoi sclipiri de pește ca o lamă de brici și voci răgușit-peticite pe malurile mele se-ntind nesfârșit...

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la camera de gardă (3)

de Petru Teodor

Scriu la granița de după. Fără putință de-a te ascunde într-o carcasă, fără putință de tăgadă... Pielea ta e un blestem, neputințele tale sunt un blestem, moartea este înscrisă între dalele de...

Atelier

Dirty Diana

de Michael Jackson

You\'ll never make me stay so take your weight ofF of me I know your every move so won\'t you just let me be. I\'ve been here times before but I was too blind to see That you seduce every man this...

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ANTHEM

de Leonard Cohen

The birds they sang at the break of day Start again I heard them say Don’t dwell on what has passed away Or what is yet to be. The wars they will be fought again The holy dove be caught again Bought...

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story....

de Florea Ana-Maria

Grey! That was the colour that described everything around him:nature,atmosphere,colours....everything... One glance around him and he felt as if the colour entered his soul,never to leave it! He got...

ProzăAtelier

poetry and love

de Cristina

if i would be dying and love and poetry and love would die than i would not want to live, i would want to go with them. poetry gives me a chance, a chance to say waht i want, a chance to express...

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sorry..

de oana stanescu

I’m sorry I want more than I can get, more than I’ll ever get.. I’m sorry for being what I am I’m sorry for being at all but it wasn’t my choice.. I’m sorry for choosing not to choose I’m sorry for...

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[Life - a lie with charming sadness]

de serghei esenin

Life - a lie with charming sadness That is where lies her strength And with her rought hand She writes the word of fate. Always, when I close my eyes, I say, \"Touch your heart and see, Life - a lie,...

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