Author: Henry David Thoreau (---.spacegate.com.ua)
Date: 01-26-06 05:19
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From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dress\'d in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,
That heavy Saturn laugh\'d and leap\'d with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odour and in hue,
Could make me any summer\'s story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:
Nor did I wonder at the lily\'s white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Yet seem\'d it winter still, and you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.
A play should give you something to think about. When I see a play and understand it the first time, then I know it can\'t
T. S. Eliot
Conversation in real life is full of half-finished sentences and
overlapping talk. Why shouldn\'t painting be too?
No Christian and, indeed, no historian could accept the epigram which defines religion as \'what a man does with his
C. S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory