"words I didn\'t say" – 1097 rezultate
0.02 secundeMeilisearchRadu 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
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...
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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...
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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.
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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.
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Carmen Harra
Carmen Harra in her own words: Even as a little girl growing up in Romania, I knew I was different. After a near-death experience at age five, I was able to see things others couldn\'t. Everyone who has had a near-death experience describes the sensation of \"going toward the light.” In this parallel world, extraordinary light energy surrounds you and you see an inexpressibly beautiful light. There is no negativity and no anger or sadness, only love. It is a perfect, glowing world, filled with dazzling insights and pure truth, the way our Creator meant it to be. I\'ve never forgotten the lessons this experience taught me. Why, I wondered, wasn\'t life on Earth like this? This parallel world, which I call the Invisible World, is just as real as the physical world here on Earth. It is even more real because the people there are souls unencumbered by ego, emotions, and attachment to material things. Without these negative distractions, souls exist harmoniously in love, joy, and peace. On...
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Hancu 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,...
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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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Fred Moramarco
Dr. Moramarco is a Professor of English at San Diego State and the Editor of Poetry International, an annual journal of new poetry published there. He is the co-author of Containing Multitudes: Poetry in the United States Since 1950 and Modern American Poetry, and co-editor of Men of Our Time: Male Poetry in Contemporary America. ,,I\'ve devoted a lot of my life to poetry. Reading it, writing it, writing about it. In her wonderful novel, \"Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant,\" Anne Tyler writes, \"There ought to be a whole separate language for truth.\" I think there is such a language--the language of poetry. Poems create the miracle of connecting our inner lives. We live in a world where the language of advertising, commerce, and politics are so filled with falseness, deception, and manipulation, that we have an absolute longing to hear words spoken from the heart, with clarity, precision, and authenticity.``
2 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
Who say words with my mouth
de Jelaluddin Rumi
All day I think about it, then at night I say it. Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing? I have no idea. My soul is from elsewhere, I\'m sure of that, and I intend to end up...
House with no door
de Peter Hamill
There\'s a house with no door and I\'m living there at nights it gets so cold and the days are hard to bear inside. There\'s a house with no roof, so the rain creeps in, falling through my head as I...
De ce n-o iubesc pe Emily
de Viorel Gaita
Zilele trecute a fost tornadă pe strada mea. După ce mi-am degajat mașina de sub un copac am vrut să-i sun pe cei de la SCRAP să vina să ia ce mai rămăsese. Așa am constatat că nici telefonul fix nu...
Stanzas on... I love you
de Paul R. Prodan
"I love you." What would you do if I didn’t know it’s true? What would you say if I took those words away?
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...
Interview with Enrique Iglesias
de A.M. Rika
Enrique Iglesias reaches for the stars with his feet on the ground Enrique Iglesias is the boy next door, someone who grew up doing things quietly, but effectively. Dreaming of becoming a pop star...
Cyber Lesson Learned
de Ohm
A letter is being written for you. 10/26 Written in draft form, why? Because I know not what else to do? It is as cold here, in draft, as it is in my heart. My body chilled, by your absence. My mind...
I always say
de Lia Miruna Dumitrache
So there we were, in hell. Burning programme’s nine to four – the perpetual thing is bogus cause there’s too many of us and they have to have shifts and besides they gotta cool the place down at...
The Telephone
de Robert Frost
\"When I was just as far as I could walk From here today, There was an hour All still When leaning with my head against a flower I heard you talk. Don\'t say I didn\'t, for I heard you say-- You...
The Axe Helve
de Robert Frost
I\'ve known ere now an interfering branch Of alder catch my lifted axe behind me. But that was in the woods, to hold my hand From striking at another alder\'s roots, And that was, as I say, an alder...