|
|
Due to spam and off-topic content, these forums are being phased out and replaced with new great books forums. Please join us! Ahoy fellow book lovers!
The former post was removed as it violated our user agreement, or it did not add to the "Great Books" conversation in a constructive manner.
The new Mountain Biking Forum may be found at http://killdevilhill.com/mountainbikingchat/wwwboard.html .
To foster quality discussion forums, from now on only registered members may post. Spam will not be tolerated. If you would like to help moderate, please contact "jolly roger ship @ yahoo . com".
To post please register at http://jollyrogerwest.com.
We prefer deep reflections on Philosophy, Shakespearean Sonnets, and tender musings along the lines of:
When beauty fires the blood, how love exalts the mind. -John Dryden, 1700
Beauty in all things-no, we cannot hope for that; but some place set apart for it. -Edna St. Vincent Millay, 1940
It is our continuing goal to foster the world's greatest converstation.
In the future, please register and make all posts to http://jollyrogerwest.com,
and/or join the forums at Great Books & Philosophy Forums @ jollyroger.com/greatbooksforums.
CXIII Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind; And that which governs me to go about Doth part his function and is partly blind, Seems seeing, but effectually is out; For it no form delivers to the heart Of bird, of flower, or shape which it doth latch: Of his quick objects hath the mind no part, Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch; For if it see the rud'st or gentlest sight, The most sweet favour or deformed'st creature, The mountain or the sea, the day or night: The crow, or dove, it shapes them to your feature. Incapable of more, replete with you, My most true mind thus maketh mine untrue. --William Shakespeare
All The Best,
William Einstein Shakespeare :)
CXVII Accuse me thus: that I have scanted all, Wherein I should your great deserts repay, Forgot upon your dearest love to call, Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day; That I have frequent been with unknown minds, And given to time your own dear-purchas'd right; That I have hoisted sail to all the winds Which should transport me farthest from your sight. Book both my wilfulness and errors down, And on just proof surmise, accumulate; Bring me within the level of your frown, But shoot not at me in your waken'd hate; Since my appeal says I did strive to prove The constancy and virtue of your love. --William Shakespeare