Nylige kommentarer

aloeverahe
Inhumane? Or Inhuman?

Adeline
Play with a frog? But... what if I can't find him?

Joker-Davian Williams
Com,mas everyw,h,ere commas, everywhere, commas don't, belong everywhere,

Jarod Kintz
Imma do both just in case.

a casual observer
Exactly! The edit function is there for a reason, so that we can improve other …

Mer

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Alle sitater

Diavolo - Vento Aureo - Diavolo Monologue
This is a test. I've accepted this test to stand victorious against my past. A person grows once they are able to defeat their weaker self. Wouldn't you agree, Jean Pierre Polnareff?

William Blake - Introduction
Piping down the valleys wild, piping songs of pleasant glee, on a cloud I saw a child, and he laughing said to me: "Pipe a song about a lamb!" so I piped with merry cheer. "Piper, pipe that song again" So I piped, he wept to hear. "Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe, sing thy songs of happy cheer" So I sung the same again, while he wept with joy to hear.

George Gordon - So We'll Go No More a Roving
So, we'll go no more a roving so late into the night, though the heart be still as loving, and the moon be still as bright. For the sword outwears its sheath, and the soul wears out the breast, and the heart must pause to breathe, and love itself have rest. Though the night was made for loving, and the day returns too soon, yet we'll go no more a roving by the light of the moon.

John Keats - Lines on the Mermaid Tavern
Souls of poets dead and gone, what Elysium have ye known, happy field or mossy cavern, choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? Have ye tippled drink more fine than mine host's Canary wine? Or are fruits of Paradise sweeter than those dainty pies of venison? O generous food! Drest as though bold Robin Hood would, with his maid Marian, sup and bowse from horn and can.

William Blake - The Clod and the Pebble
"Love seeks not itself to please, nor for itself has any care, but for another gives its ease, and builds a Heaven in Hell's despair." So sung a little clod of clay trodden with the cattle's feet, but a pebble of the brook warbled out these metres meet: "Love seeks only self to please, to bind another to its delight, joys in another's loss of ease, and builds a Hell in Heaven's despite."

Percy Bysshe Shelley - The Waning Moon
And like a dying lady, lean and pale, who totters forth, wrapped in a gauzy veil, out of her chamber, led by the insane and feeble wanderings of her fading brain, the moon arose up in the murky East, a white and shapeless mass.

Franz Kafka - Metamorphosis
Gregor slowly pushed his way over to the door with the chair. Once there he let go of it and threw himself onto the door, holding himself upright against it using the adhesive on the tips of his legs. He rested there a little while to recover from the effort involved and then set himself to the task of turning the key in the lock with his mouth. He seemed, unfortunately, to have no proper teeth - how was he, then, to grasp the key?

William Shakespeare - Brutus' Speech
Romans, countrymen, and lovers! Hear me for my cause, and be silent, that you may hear. Believe me for mine honor, and have respect to mine honor, that you may believe. Censure me in your wisdom, and awake your senses, that you may the better judge. If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of Caesar's, to him I say that Brutus' love to Caesar was no less than his.

William Shakespeare - Puck's Monologue
If we shadows have offended, think but this, and all is mended; that you have but slumbered here while these visions did appear and this weak and idle theme, no more yielding but a dream. Gentles, do not reprehend. If you pardon, we will mend.

William Blake - The Tyger
In what distant deeps or skies burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand, dare seize the fire? And what shoulder, and what art, could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, what dread hand? And what dread feet? What the hammer? What the chain, in what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? What dread grasp, dare its deadly terrors clasp?

Lord Byron - Don Juan
I want a hero: an uncommon want, when every year and month sends forth a new one, till, after cloying the gazettes with can't, the age discovers he is not the true one; of such as these I should not care to vaunt, I'll therefore take our ancient friend Don Juan- we all have seen him, in the pantomime, sent to the devil somewhat ere his time.