Author: Henry David Thoreau (---.spacegate.com.ua)
Date: 01-12-06 07:27
The former post was off topic and was thus removed as it was a violation of our
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Who will believe my verse in time to come,
If it were fill\'d with your most high deserts?
Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say \'This poet lies;
Such heavenly touches ne\'er touch\'d earthly faces.\'
So should my papers, yellow\'d with their age,
Be scorn\'d, like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be term\'d a poet\'s rage
And stretched metre of an antique song:
But were some child of yours alive that time,
You should live twice,--in it, and in my rhyme.
In an artist\'s life, death is perhaps not the most difficult
Vincent Van Gogh
Government\'s view of the economy could be summed up in a few short
phrases: If it moves, tax it. If it keeps moving, regulate it. And if it
stops moving, subsidise it.
O heart, we are old;
The living beauty is for younger men:
We cannot pay its tribute of wild tears.
-Yeats, W.B., 1918