"How Sad . . ." – 620 rezultate
0.01 secundeMeilisearchDenia
How happy is the blameless vestal's lot! The world forgetting, by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd;
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NANicoleta Albu
"Alice:How long is forever? White Rabbit:Sometimes, just one second." Endless time. We crave it and yet we curse it. Lewis Carroll
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BRBucseneanu Radu
We are how we choose to be! ..nimic nu e concret si totu-i relativ !¿!
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Isaac Asimov
Biographical (non-literary) How do you pronounce \"Isaac Asimov\"? \"EYE\'zik AA\'zi-mov\". The name is spelled with an \"s\" and not a \"z\" because Asimov\'s father didn\'t understand the English alphabet clearly when the family moved to the U.S. in 1923. (In Russian, the spelling was the Cyrillic equivalent of Azimov, and in Yiddish, the Hebrew letters were aleph-zayin-yod-mem-aleph-vav-vav.) One way to remember this pronunciation is the pun from The Flying Sorcerers by Larry Niven and David Gerrold: \"As a color, shade of purple-grey\", or \"As a mauve\". Asimov wrote a poem (\"The Prime of Life\") in which he rhymes his surname with \"stars above\"; someone else suggested amending the poem to rhyme it with \"mazel tov\", which he thought an improvement. Asimov\'s own suggestion, however, as to how to remember his name was to say \"Has Him Off\" and leave out the H\'s. When did Asimov die? What was the cause of his death? Where is he buried? Asimov died on April 6, 1992 of heart...
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APAlin Popa
The value of life can be measured by how many times your soul has been deeply stirred. Nu îți cere niciodată iertare pentru sentimentele pe care le afișezi. Atunci când faci acest lucru, tu îți ceri practic iertare pentru adevărul din tine. Și puțini au puterea să pună în palma altcuiva emoții, într-o lume de măști și suflete goale. Sunt puține lacrimi sincere pe pământ – Marin Preda
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Ovidiu Tarau
There's no rain...the raindrops are God's tears for mankind forgot how to love with all the heart...
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EAEnder Alexandru
Angels laughing... they don’t, they forgot how or won’t In this wasteland of sorrow where we all lost a soul
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Dan Moldoveanu
'Somebody at one of these places ... asked me: "What do you do? How do you write, create?" You don't, I told them. You don't try. That's very important: not to try, either for Cadillacs, creation or immortality. You wait, and if nothing happens, you wait some more. It's like a bug high on the wall. You wait for it to come to you. When it gets close enough you reach out, slap out and kill it. Or if you like its looks you make a pet out of it.' - Charles Bukowski
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ODOriah Mountain Dreamer
Oriah Mountain Dreamer is the author of the inspirational prose-poem and international best-selling books, The Invitation (now translated into over fifteen languages), The Dance and The Call: Discovering Why You Are Here . Her writing explores how to follow the thread of our deepest heart\'s longing into a life of meaning and purpose. Her latest book, What We Ache For: Creativity and the Unfolding of Your Soul, (Harper San Francisco, April 2005) offers reflections on and practical guidelines for finding and cultivating creative work that is not separated from your spirituality, your direct experience of that which is both what you are and larger than yourself, or your sexuality, the fire and sensuality of life lived in the physical world. Oriah has shared her insights and stories with audiences throughout the world at conferences and retreats and through radio and TV appearances (CBC, TVO, Oprah, NPR, PBS, Wisdom Network.) Blending ruthless honesty, humour, insight and compassion for...
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SCStefan Ciobanasu
Which way is the right path, as I stand upon This chaotic crossroads of hate... How many ways are there to roam On this dark and damned road of fate... "There are many ways, my son, to find where the souls of demons remain...But it takes only one second of despair and of doubt Until at last, your soul, they will gain... Inherit these lands, these things, these dreams That are yours, forever, to adore... For there is no life, in the depths of chaos, my son, For you to explore... C. Vincent Metzen - 'The Initiate' All I ever craved were the two dreams I shared with you. One I now have, will the other one ever dream remain. For yours I truly wish to be. Nightwish - Ever Dream
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At the mother's cross A face of an angel of childhood
de Laurențiu Nelu Rădoi
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Under the acacias bathed in dead winter's frost, Driven in the wheel of life by a windy March, The moon rises warm, but it's so far away The too...
Sonnet LXV
de William Shakespeare
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, But sad mortality o\'er-sways their power, How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, Whose action is no stronger than a flower? O, how shall...
letter-thaughts
de petrut marinescu
I was thinking about you last night.About what we\'re talking,about whatwe\'re dreaming,about how our lives are.Some of my thaughts are the same as yours and that makes me feel close to you.Some of...
In Tempore Senectutis
de Ezra Pound
When I am old I will not have you look apart From me, into the cold, Friend of my heart, Nor be sad in your remembrance Of the careless, mad-heart semblance That the wind hath blown away When I am...
To the moon
de Giacomo Leopardi
Oh gracious moon, now as the year turns, I remember how, heavy with sorrow, I climbed this hill to gaze on you, And then as now you hung above those trees Illuminating all. But to my eyes Your face...
The Phœnix and the turtle
de William Shakespeare
Let the bird of loudest lay, On the sole Arabian tree, Herald sad and trumpet be, To whose sound chaste wings obey. But thou shrieking harbinger, Foul precurrer of the fiend, Augur of the fever\'s...
to hell and back
de oana stanescu
Sometimes I feel like I’m falling appart Sometimes I’m just dying without any questions..or thoughts..or reasons.. Sometimes my head is so heavy almost like a burden how can I get rid of that single...
My Butterfly
de Robert Frost
Thine emulous fond flowers are dead, too, And the daft sun-assaulter, he That frighted thee so oft, is fled or dead: Save only me (Nor is it sad to thee!) Save only me There is none left to mourn...
Sonnet LVII
de William Shakespeare
Being your slave, what should I do but tend Upon the hours and times of your desire? I have no precious time at all to spend, Nor services to do, till you require. Nor dare I chide the...
PARADISE LOST -- Book X
de John Milton
Book X 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...