Monday, March 27, 2006
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Iway Earthay Igpay Atinlay!
Iway ustjay iscoveredday igpay atinlay andway I’mway ovinglay itway! Isthay isway omewhatsay ofway away eaninglessmay ostpay, utbay incesay I'veway othingnay etterbay otay oday ithway ymay imetay, erehay eway areway. It’sway away ameshay Iway onlyway oundfay outway aboutway isthay ownay…osay anymay earsyay ofway ildhoodchay astedway.
Otay anslatetray ethay uoteqay eviouslypray ostedpay by Alevway:
Ustjay arkday isway ethay absenceway ofway ightlay,
Andway oldcay isway ethay absenceway ofway armthway,
Evilway isway ethay absenceway ofway Odgay.
Isthay isway unfay! Utbay I’llway opstay ownay, ecausebay I’veway othingnay eftlay otay aysay.
Eerschay!!
Otay anslatetray ethay uoteqay eviouslypray ostedpay by Alevway:
Ustjay arkday isway ethay absenceway ofway ightlay,
Andway oldcay isway ethay absenceway ofway armthway,
Evilway isway ethay absenceway ofway Odgay.
Isthay isway unfay! Utbay I’llway opstay ownay, ecausebay I’veway othingnay eftlay otay aysay.
Eerschay!!
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Death Be Not Proud...
By John Donne (1572-1631)
Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so
For, those, whom thou thinkst, thou doth overthrow
Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures be
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow
And soonest our best men with thee do go
Rest of their bones, their souls deliveree
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, Kings and desperate men
And dost with poison, war and sickness dwell
And poppy, or charms, can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then;
One short sleep past, we wake eternally
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so
For, those, whom thou thinkst, thou doth overthrow
Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures be
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow
And soonest our best men with thee do go
Rest of their bones, their souls deliveree
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, Kings and desperate men
And dost with poison, war and sickness dwell
And poppy, or charms, can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then;
One short sleep past, we wake eternally
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.
"A writer can do with words what Jimi Hendrix does with a guitar."
- Michael Cunningham, author of "The Hours"
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Tell me what you think...
Of this quote...
Just as dark is the absence of light
And cold is the absence of warmth,
Evil is the absence of God.
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