"The words flow" – 11432 rezultate
0.03 secundeMeilisearchHancu George
Inspiration Inspiration Sit down she said, pen me a few lines, tell me of life, love, hopes and dreams. write to me of much happier times When love ruled your heart, and life it seemed Was full of possibilities, plans and endless schemes. I took up the challenge, and began to write, Of life, of love and hopes and dreams, Words flowed like rivers, as I wrote them down, Thinking all the while of the lady I'd found To inspire my thoughts, and urge me on, To make something beautiful, maybe a song. Into the small hours, I toiled away, writing down lines, throwing them away. 'Twas then that I realised, that the happier times That she spoke of and wanted, were not of that time. For the happier times were not from long ago, But were here with me now, and now I know, That 'twas the love for this lady, that made my words flow, And to write something beautiful, for her, her alone. I wrote of life, and my living with her, Of love, her in my arms forever more, Of hopes, a future for us so bright,...
2 poezii, 0 proze
ITIoan Tițian
Prenume: Ioan Nume: Tițian email: maa_eendo@yahoo.com Photo: by Me ... 1 Does the Eagle know what is in the pit? 2 Or wilt thou go ask the Mole? 3 Can Wisdom be put in a silver rod? 4 Or Love in a golden bowl? (by W. Blake) ... I ne'er was struck before that hour With love so sudden and so sweet. Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower And stole my heart away complete. My face turned pale, a deadly pale. My legs refused to walk away, And when she looked what could I ail My life and all seemed turned to clay. And then my blood rushed to my face And took my eyesight quite away. The trees and bushes round the place Seemed midnight at noonday. I could not see a single thing, Words from my eyes did start. They spoke as chords do from the string, And blood burnt round my heart. Are flowers the winter's choice Is love's bed always snow She seemed to hear my silent voice Not love appeals to know. I never saw so sweet a face As that I stood before. My heart has left its dwelling place And can...
6 poezii, 0 proze
PSPublilius Syrus
Scriitor latin, de origine siriană. Autor de mimi (farse), care abundau în maxime morale (sententiae) foarte apreciate atât de contemporanii săi, cât și de posteritate. Engleză Publilius (less correctly Publius) Syrus, a Latin writer of maxims, flourished in the 1st century BC. He was a Syrian who was brought as a slave to Italy, but by his wit and talent he won the favor of his master, who freed and educated him. His mimes, in which he acted himself, had a great success in the provincial towns of Italy and at the games given by Caesar in 46 BC. Publilius was perhaps even more famous as an improviser, and received from Caesar himself the prize in a contest in which he vanquished all his competitors, including the celebrated Decimus Laberius. All that remains of his works is a collection of Sentences (Sententiae), a series of moral maxims in iambic and trochaic verse. This collection must have been made at a very early date, since it was known to Aulus Gellius in the 2nd century AD....
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DBdorin bregu
... As in the words of the great De la Soul..... Me, Myself & I... Add me on Facebook /portaeporta/ if you wanna holla at me directly. Stay blessed.
8 poezii, 0 proze
nicoleta d.
no words are enough to say what I had lived...the words are plane and could not show the beauty that ihave lived...nothing is important to me, but my , myself and I...I could write my life with simple words but the sparkness of the real life could not be seen and felt...so all that I can say is that I live, not only exist...
5 poezii, 0 proze
IMIohann Mayer
An emissary of the Queen Christina of Sweden to the khan of the Tartars Islam Giray the 3rd, Iohann Mayer made a journey through Moldavia during May 1651. He was sent to accompany the Tartar messenger who had brought to the queen the letter of the khan that contained proposals of common operation against Poland and he was to hand over to the khan the answer of the queen as well. He passed through The White Citadel for the first time in December 1650 on his way towards Crimea. Now, in the summer of the next year, he was coming back on the same route and was finding again the same boatmen he had used six months earlier, on leaving. One cannot be aware of any other details of his winter journey towards Crimea, no other details about his itinerary through Moldavia he is most likely to have used to make his way to the khan` s court. His journey diary is preceded with the words: These are those that happened and occurred during my journey to Bakhchisaray and during the period I spent there,...
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DBDaniela Maria Benea
I was born in Cluj-Napoca on the 11th of September 1970. I have learned to read, write and love over there. In 1991 I moved to Brisbane, Australia. I hold a bachelor degree in International Business. Later on I followed a couple of courses in Psychology. I mainly write in Romanian, that's what makes me feel closer to the places I left. However I do write in English, sometimes it feels like the words find me better this way, or maybe it's the other way around. I read many English books, biographies, poetry, etc.
19 poezii, 0 proze
Daniil Harms
\'Daniil Kharms\' was the main, and subsequently the sole, pen-name of Daniil Ivanovich Yuvachov. The son of a St. Petersburg political, religious and literary figure, Daniil was to achieve limited local renown as a Leningrad avant-garde eccentric and a writer of children\'s stories in the 1920s and 30s. Among other pseudonyms, he had employed \'Daniil Dandan\' and \'Kharms-Shardam\'. The predilection for \'Kharms\' is thought to derive from appreciation of the tension between the English words \'charms\' and \'harms\' (plus the German Charme; indeed, there is an actual German surname \'Harms\'), but may also owe something to a similarity in sound to Sherlock Holmes (pronounced \'Kholms\' in Russian), a figure of fascination to Kharms.
44 poezii, 0 proze
POP. D. Ouspensky
Peter D. Ouspensky (March 4, 1878–October 2, 1947), (Pyotr Demianovich Ouspenskii, also Uspenskii or Uspensky, Пётр Демья́нович Успе́нский), a Russian esotericist known for his expositions of the early work of the Greek-Armenian teacher of esoteric doctrine George Gurdjieff, whom he met in Moscow in 1915. He was associated with the ideas and practices originating with Gurdjieff from then on. In 1924, he separated from Gurdjieff personally, and some, including Rodney Collin among others, say that he finally gave up the (Gurdjieff) "system" that he had shared with people for 25 years in England and the United States, but his own recorded words on the subject ("A Record of Meetings," published posthumously) do not clearly endorse this judgement nor does Ouspensky's emphasis on "you must make a new beginning" after confessing "I've left the...
1 poezii, 0 proze
Radu Contes
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
The Discourse of History
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The formal description of sets of words beyond the level of the sentence (what we call for convenience discourse) is not a modern development: from Gorgias to the nineteenth century, it was the...
The Poems of Sappho, Part III
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The Poems of Sappho, Part III 44 Ge\'llws paidofilwte\'ra. More fond of children than Gello. Zenobius, about A.D. 130, quotes this as a proverb. The ghost of Gello was said by the Lesbians to pursue...
Green shop
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Green shop Ok,my mind is not clear all the time And,yes,I know people with good eyes which can not see And,ya,I\'d like to touch my bones from inside(an absolute pleasure) As I like to feel words...
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See the tall and lonely castle mirrored in the placid lake, \'Neath those waters does its shadow through the ages never wake, Silently above the pine-tress rise its ancient rampart stark, Throwing...
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In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy. Drive your cart and your plough over the bones of the dead. The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom. Prudence is a rich, ugly old maid...
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Classes, hours streets... The VETO right over sunrise, heads of concrete... As water takes the shape of the vase, So does man take the elaborate shape of the maze in its underscored power. Witness to...
goodbye to the self
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a light shouting in your mind the presence of loneliness coming from behind and what is silence if not a cure spoken forever, never listened for sure i really hurt you with my pain no silly arguments...
The Poems of Sappho, Part IV
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The Poems of Sappho, Part IV 110 H?mitu\'bion stala\'sson. A napkin dripping. From the Scholiast on the Plutus of Aristophanes to show the meaning of h?mitu\'bion. This was a piece of soft linen for...
Want to
de Andrei Dumitrescu
I want to share words with you Kisses,desires, Melted snowmen guitar cords and fallen empires, Dead stars and the long distance to Mars, I want to share with you my unborn skars and my metatars, my...