Best lines of Poetry or Literature

quote here the most beautiful, witty, sharp etc lines of Poetry or Literatures. (Small pieces are also allowed but don't asceed more than three to four sentences)

I'll start with Dylan Thomas

And taken by light in her arms at long and dear last
I may without fail
Suffer the first vision that set fire to the stars

Celia Celia - Adrian Mitchell

When I am sad and weary
When I think all hope has gone
When I walk along High Holborn
I think of you with nothing on

Lovecraft's

That is not dead which can eternal lie. And with strange aeons even death may die.

Perhaps the greatest thing I've ever read in my life.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

They walked to elude the companies of crossbowmen they knew the Inrithi kept behind their lines, armed with the Tears of God. Not one among their number could be risked, not with the Scarlet Spires girding for war—not for any reason. They were Cishaurim, Indara’s Waterbearers and their breath was more precious than the breath of thousands. They were oases among men.
Drawing their palms over grass, goldenrod, and white alyssum, they walked toward the common line, fourteen of them, their yellow silk cassocks whipped by wind and fiery convections, the five snakes about each of their throats outstretched, like the spokes of a candelabra, searching every direction. The desperate Northmen fired volley after volley of arrows, but the shafts burst into puffs of flame. The Cishaurim continued walking, sweeping their gouged eyes along the bristling Inrithi lines. Wherever they turned, blue blinding light exploded among the Men of the Tusk, blistering skin, welding iron to flesh, charring hearts . . .
Many Northmen held their position, dropping prone beneath their shields as they’d been taught. But many others were already fleeing—Usgalders, Agmundrmen, and Gaenrish, Numainerish and Plaidolmen—senseless to the rallying cries of their officers and lords. The Inrithi centre floundered, began to evaporate. Battle had become massacre.
Amid the tumult, Crown Prince Fanayal and his Coyauri fled the ravine, the Shrial Knights pursuing them through billowing dust and smoke—or so it seemed to all who watched. At first, the Fanim could scarce credit their eyes. Many cried out, not in fear or dismay, but in wonder at the deranged ferocity of the idolaters. When Fanayal wheeled away, Incheiri Gotian, some four thousand Shrial Knights massed behind him, continued galloping forward, crying—weeping—“The God wills it!” They scattered across the Battleplain, unbloodied save for the morning’s first disastrous charge, hurtling through the grasses, crouched low out of terror, crying out their fury, their defiance. They charged the fourteen Cishaurim, drove their mounts into the hellish lights that unspooled from their brows. And they died burning, like moths assailing coals in a fire’s heart.
Filaments of blue incandescence, fanning out, glittering with unearthly beauty, burning limbs to cinders, bursting torsos, immolating men in their saddles. Amid the shrieks and wails, the rumble of hooves, the thunder of men howling “The God wills it!” Gotian was pitched breakneck from the charred remnants of his horse. Biaxi Scoulas, his leg burnt to a stump, toppled and was trampled to pulp by those pounding after him. The knight immediately before Cutias Sarcellus exploded, and sent a knife whistling through his windpipe. The First Knight-Commander collapsed, slapped face-first onto the ground. Death came swirling down.
Brains boiled in skulls. Teeth snapped. Hundreds fell in the first thirty seconds. Hundreds more in the second. Scorching light materialized everywhere, like the cracks that dizzy glass. And still the Shrial Knights whipped their horses forward, leaping the smouldering ruin of their brothers, racing one another to their doom, thousands of them, howling, howling. The scrub and grasses ignited. Oily smoke bloomed skyward, drawn toward the Cishaurim by the wind.
Then a lone rider, a young adept, swept up to one of the sorcerer-priests—and took his head. When the nearest turned his sockets to regard him, only the boy’s horse erupted in flame. The young knight tumbled and continued running, his cries shrill, his dead father’s Chorae bound to the palm of his hand.
Only then did the Cishaurim realize their mistake—their arrogance. For several heartbeats they hesitated . . .
And a tide of burnt and bloody knights broke from the rolling smoke, among them Grandmaster Gotian, hauling the Gold Tusk on White, his Order’s sacred standard. In that final rush, hundreds more fell burning. But some didn’t, and the Cishaurim rent the earth, desperately trying to bring those with Chorae down. But it was too late—the raving knights were upon them. One tried to flee by stepping into the sky, only to be felled by a crossbow bolt bearing a Tear of God. The others were cut down where they stood.
They were Cishaurim, Indara’s Waterbearers, and their death was more precious than the death of thousands.
For an impossible moment, all was silent. The Shrial Knights, those few hundred who survived, began limping and staggering back to the battered ranks of their Inrithi brothers. Incheiri Gotian was among the last to reach safety, bearing a burnt youth slumped across his shoulders.

Mother died today.

my my crate-boy also lives :P

who wrote that piece? you?

Too tough to die ~;)

And, are you joking? :inquisitive:

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Craterus

Mother died today.

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Quote:

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Originally Posted by The Stranger

my my crate-boy also lives :P

who wrote that piece? you?

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L’Étranger, Camus --- magnifique.



They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes
Within a dream.

Ernest Dowson.

Quote:

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Man that is born of a woman is of few days, and full of trouble. He cometh forth like a flower, and is cut down; he fleeth also as a shadow, and continueth not.

And I said, Oh that I had wings like a dove! for then would I fly away, and be at rest.

A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.

Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death . . . Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it.

And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.

I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith.

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Here's a few favorites from one text.

Ajax

So it goes.

Kurt Vonnegut. :cry:

One is in my sig.

Another favourite is by Byron -

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright,
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;

And a third one from a translation of Omar Khayyam, can't rightly remember who translation it was;

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Morning when dawn's left hand was in the sky,
I heard a voice within the tavern cry,
Awake my little ones and fill the cup,
Before life's liquor in its cup be dry....

And a fourth one which I nearly forgot...don't even remember who it is by.....read it in a RD book of Wit and Wisdom ages back;

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

I praise the Frenchman, his remark was shrewd,
How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude!
But grant me still a friend in my retreat
Whom I may whisper, solitude is sweet.

Great thread by the way.....lots of potential.

I am considering learning this bit by heart:

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far. The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age.

H. P. Lovecraft, The Call of Cthulhu

And, a poem:

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

"Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride,
And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her- that she died!
How shall the ritual, then, be read? — the requiem how be sung
By you — by yours, the evil eye, — by yours, the slanderous tongue
That did to death the innocence that died, and died so young?"

E. A. Poe, Lenore

EDIT: Oh, and almost forgot a recent jewel I discovered (non-English, I hope you don't mind):

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Daar waren eens drie studentjes
Drie vrienden in lust en in nood;
Ze sprongen zoo moedig de wereld in,
En de wereld - trapte ze dood.

P. Paaltjens, Drie Studentjes
P. Paaltjens, Three Little Students

When the stars threw down their spears
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the lamb make thee?

— William Blake

"Rhaegar fought valiantly, Rhaegar fought nobly, Rhaegar fought honourably. And Rhaegar died."

~George R.R. Martin



"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Someone had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Alfred Tennyson

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Craterus

Too tough to die ~;)

And, are you joking? :inquisitive:

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i know now, I read the book myself aswell... but I read it in french, your translation didnt ring a bell. it was the opening line if i recall correct? it is very good, like poetry. i like it.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Sevis

EDIT: Oh, and almost forgot a recent jewel I discovered (non-English, I hope you don't mind):

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Daar waren eens drie studentjes
Drie vrienden in lust en in nood;
Ze sprongen zoo moedig de wereld in,
En de wereld - trapte ze dood.

P. Paaltjens, Drie Studentjes
P. Paaltjens, Three Little Students

---

specially for you I have this one i just found,

Maar Noa zwijgt, en haar zwijgen is meer dan gewoon een stilte, en haar zwijgen snijdt alle woorden uit zijn mond. (by one called helga)

there's more here, in dutch though http://www.schrijvenonline.org/forum/102216?page=1

and Ungaretti's

Eterno

Tra un fiore colto e l'altro donato
l'inesprimibile nulla

between one flower reaped and the other given
the inexpressible nothingness

(I don't know but somehow english ruins most french and italian poems in translation)

"Oh freddled gruntbuggly? thy micturations are to me
As plurdled gabbleblotchis on a lurgid bee.
Groop I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes.
And hooptiously drangle me with crinkly bindlewurdles,
Or I will rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon, see if I don't!"

-Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

"Now can you tell me how all this happened?" asked Mrs Jones, the police officer in charge of finding out what happened, "it is vitally important"
"Yes I think I can" I replied, and I was forced to re-live my terrible experience.
"I miss you too," I was saying to my girlfriend Jess "no I miss you more"
"Sorry Adam my mum says I've got to get to off the phone and finish my homework bye "she had replied
"Bye love you see you tomorrow"
"Bye bye love you to" and she put the phone down, I carried on walking home, and then i saw them the bunch of 7, 18 year old, pikies I had seen yesterday, that threatened me, that if they saw me again they would mug me and beat me up.

"Damn" I thought I had forgotten my penknife, I was about to turn and run, when I realised that they were beating up someone they looked small about 10 or 11, I felt sorry for them, I would of them pikies up but I was only 14, and there was 7 of them and only one of me, so I was walking past trying not to be noticed, when I tried to get to get a glimpse of who it was, when I got a great shock, was that, no it couldn't be, but there again, my 10 year old brother, John and then I felt the rage build up, that had only happened once before, in year 4 when my worst enemy, his older brother and his gang, he was in year 5 and his brother was in year 6, were beating up my best friend, there were 4 of them, 3 year 5's and a year 6, it had come off badly, for them.
Back to the present I ran at the nearest one, rugby tackled him to the floor, we skid at least 15 feet, I cut up the knuckles on one hand, the other hand was holding his face to the floor, the last 5 feet there was a red skid of his blood, when we stopped I started to pummel his face, with both of my hands, the other pikies where looking now, this little kid decked the biggest of them they couldn't believe it, I kept on punching until one of them hit me, I got up and faced them, I shouted at John
"John get home now, take your bike and go and get help!" he got up, staggered a bit, started to walk towards me, to help but "John get home now, first house, get help now!"
He ran, the pikies started on me, I expected the one on the floor to get up, he didn't, I turned and ran, I was the sporty type, fasted sprinter best fighter, the strongest boy in our school and one of the smartest, I got my bike I yanked the keys out my pocket, and then realised I had so many keys and they looked the same, so I started to find the right key, they finally caught up with me, just as I opened the padlock
"Good for us that you opened the lock, after we kill you we can take the bike easier" one of them taunted me with his words, obviously the leader, being the strongest, then they all took a flick knife out there pocket and flicked the blade out, they were blood stained they had stabbed before and weren't afraid to do it again, they advanced on me
"bad for you actually," I replied
"How can in be bad for us?" he replied, "there are 7, no wait Daves down, 6 of us 10 more on there way I would say bad for you.

"Bring it on then" I taunted he pushed me backwards I stumbled over something on the floor, my brothers bike chain, I picked it up clicked the padlock shut I did the same with my padlock.
"Ahhhhhhhhhh" I screamed with rage then I swung the chains round like deadly batons and cracked them into his skull it made a hard impact and he went down on the floor blood trickled down from where the padlocks had struck. I carried on swinging moving toawrds the others.
"come on then bring it on" then I realised there were only 4 of them where was the other then I found out as he stabbed me in the back of my leg and punched me in the small of my back I bought the batons round and hit him he was down I thought 4 to go but then there were 10 more people coming towards me I turned round and quickly attacked the others they where down silently I turned back to the 10 but there where only 8 the other 2 where lying on the floor then the back 1 fell 7 and then Mr Williamson come round the corner holding a gun I knew it he was an elite sniper in the army when he was younger we all had thought it but he shot again 6 left the others scattered as 1 more went down there where still running towards me I swung the chins round as another fell shot the 4 where on me nearly 3 I hit one 2 he shot 1, 1 left I swung as he shot they hit the last 1 at the same time mass pain.

"Don't worry there only darts they will wake up, you made a mess of some of them"
"And that's how it happened"
"Thank you we wil be back."

Seriously though, either

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Mr Leopold Bloom ate with relish the inner organs of beasts and fowls. He liked thick giblet soup, nutty gizzards, a stuffed roast heart, liverslices fried with crustcrumbs, fried hencods' roes. Most of all he liked grilled mutton kidneys which gave to his palate a fine tang of faintly scented urine.

Or.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

O my brothers! With whom lies the greatest danger to the whole human future? Is it not with the good and just?-

-As those who say and feel in their hearts: "We already know what is good and just, we possess it also; woe to those who still seek thereafter!

And whatever harm the wicked may do, the harm of the good is the harmfulest harm!

And whatever harm the world-maligners may do, the harm of the good is the harmfulest harm!

O my brothers, into the hearts of the good and just looked some one once on a time, who said: "They are the Pharisees." But people did not understand him.

The good and just themselves were not free to understand him; their spirit was imprisoned in their good conscience. The stupidity of the good is unfathomably wise.

It is the truth, however, that the good must be Pharisees- they have no choice!

The good must crucify him who creates his own virtue! That is the truth!

The second one, however, who discovered their country- the country, heart and soil of the good and just,- it was he who asked: "Whom do they hate most?"

The creator, hate they most, him who breaks the law-tablets and old values, the breaker,- him they call the law-breaker.

For the good- they cannot create; they are always the beginning of the end:-

-They crucify him who writes new values on new law-tablets, they sacrifice to themselves the future- they crucify the whole human future!

The good- they have always been the beginning of the end.-

The Common translation is better, but I can't find that online, and I'm too lazy to type it up.

And I just started reading Lovecraft, so I'm really appreciating all the references.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by The Stranger

specially for you I have this one i just found,

Maar Noa zwijgt, en haar zwijgen is meer dan gewoon een stilte, en haar zwijgen snijdt alle woorden uit zijn mond. (by one called helga)

there's more here, in dutch though http://www.schrijvenonline.org/forum/102216?page=1
(I don't know but somehow english ruins most french and italian poems in translation)

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Ah, thank you! :)

Unfortunately, I cannot access that page - is registration required, perhaps?


As for English ruining poems - I feel that when you've heard (and understood) the original, the translation (if you can understand it) will feel wrong. I often have this, and rarely see works that feel the same once translated.

My favorite bit of poetry:

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The Emperor of Ice-Cream

Call the roller of big cigars,
The muscular one, and bid him whip
In kitchen cups concupiscent curds.
Let the wenches dawdle in such dress
As they are used to wear, and let the boys
Bring flowers in last month's newspapers.
Let be be finale of seem.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Take from the dresser of deal,
Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet
On which she embroidered fantails once
And spread it so as to cover her face.
If her horny feet protrude, they come
To show how cold she is, and dumb.
Let the lamp affix its beam.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Wallace Stevens, The Emperor of Ice Cream

As a person who generally finds poetry distasteful or boring I think the sense of grim humor in this poem is inescapably elegant and suitably nonsensical.

:egypt:

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood,
and I—I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Only in that great, fair state
of Texas, so brave, so great
full of oil, flowers and thyme
do hence and difference rhyme

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Louis VI the Fat

Only in that great, fair state

of Texas, so brave, so great
full of oil, flowers and thyme
do hence and difference rhyme

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:love:

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Sevis

Ah, thank you! :)

Unfortunately, I cannot access that page - is registration required, perhaps?


As for English ruining poems - I feel that when you've heard (and understood) the original, the translation (if you can understand it) will feel wrong. I often have this, and rarely see works that feel the same once translated.

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oh yes, you need to registrate... well if you like poetry or writing than it is a good site to check out. if you'd like i can send you a pm with some other sites.

and youre right about translation, its actually a cruelty... although sometimes i believe translation can add another dimension... but seldom though

The translators of Asterix do a superb job of transferring the puns over.

Ogden Nash, one of the great unappreciated American poets:

Cow
The cow is of the bovine ilk,
One end is moo, the other, milk.

Turtle
The turtle live 'twixt plated decks
Which practically conceal its sex;
I think it clever of the turtle
in such a fix, to be so fertile.

You wanna know what's really sad? I just typed those from memory.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Lemur

Turtle
The turtle live 'twixt plated decks
Which practically conceal its sex;
I think it clever of the turtle
in such a fix, to be so fertile.

You wanna know what's really sad? I just typed those from memory.

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C6YRshEn8K0

Another part of my quote is from Henry the V but i love this part.

"This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
Make him a member of the gentry, even if he is a commoner.
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day."

Shakespeare
Henry V, Act 4, Scene 3



and (this is sooooooo nerdy)

Theoden's monolgue in the two towers...... i have literally had this memorized since 4th grade.


Where is the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing? They have passed like rain on the mountain, like wind in the meadow. The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow.


judge me as you will but admit its pretty good

People please... the first post explicitly states no more than four sentences. :dizzy:
I like the simpler and less metaphorical stuff. Not excessively big on poetry.

Emily Dickinson:

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

Oscar Wilde:

And, though I was a soul in pain,
My pain I could not feel.

(same poem, different part)

He looked upon the garish day
With such a wistful eye;
The man had killed the thing he loved
And so he had to die.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Centurion1

Where is the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing? They have passed like rain on the mountain, like wind in the meadow. The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow.

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When I first saw the movie, I got the lines all wrong.....It wasn't until I read the book that I actually understood what the words were....
This and the lines Eomer sings during the battle of Pelennor;

Out of doubt out of dark, to the day's rising,
I came singing in the sun, sword unsheathing,
To hope's end I rode and heart's breaking,
Now for wrath, now for ruin, and a red nightfall.

:yes:

Doctor Glas, (Hjalmar Söderberg)

We want to be loved; failing that, admired; failing that, feared, failing that, hated and despised. At all costs we want to stir up some sort of feeling in others. Our soul abhors a vacuum. At all costs it longs for contact.

I like that Ironside, reminds me of some quotes ive written down from my trip... ill look those up.

here's some bob dylan, most of the mans work i can post in here, as of the of rimbaud... or ungaretti... man some people are simply genius with words.

If you see her, say hello, she might be in Tangier
She left here last early spring, is livin' there, I hear
Say for me that I'm all right though things get kind of slow
She might think that I've forgotten her, don't tell her it isn't so.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Lemur

Ogden Nash, one of the great unappreciated American poets:

Cow
The cow is of the bovine ilk,
One end is moo, the other, milk.

Turtle
The turtle live 'twixt plated decks
Which practically conceal its sex;
I think it clever of the turtle
in such a fix, to be so fertile.

You wanna know what's really sad? I just typed those from memory.

---

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QOvIot-i6rY

Was it for this the clay grew tall? - O what made fatuous sunbeams toil. To break earth's sleep at all?

Wilson Owen, futilty

Actually, the entire Fire Sermon, but specifically these lines:

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Sakyamuni Buddha, The Fire Sermon

"Disenchanted, he becomes dispassionate. Through dispassion, he is fully released. With full release, there is the knowledge, 'Fully released.' He discerns that 'Birth is depleted, the holy life fulfilled, the task done. There is nothing further for this world.' "

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Quote:

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Originally Posted by The Stranger

oh yes, you need to registrate... well if you like poetry or writing than it is a good site to check out. if you'd like i can send you a pm with some other sites.

and youre right about translation, its actually a cruelty... although sometimes i believe translation can add another dimension... but seldom though

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Thanks, but I'm already overloaded with things to read, and rarely write anything myself.

I find translation a horrid thing. Tried doing it on the scale of a book once - every paragraph takes a while, every page takes an eternity, and the end result is unreadable. If I'd be paid for it, I could perhaps finish the translation, but never would I willingly read it.

I'm surprised nothing from Tolkien has been posted so far... For instance:

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The world was young, the mountains green,
No stain yet on the Moon was seen,
No words were laid on stream or stone,
When Durin woke and walked alone.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Sevis

Thanks, but I'm already overloaded with things to read, and rarely write anything myself.

I find translation a horrid thing. Tried doing it on the scale of a book once - every paragraph takes a while, every page takes an eternity, and the end result is unreadable. If I'd be paid for it, I could perhaps finish the translation, but never would I willingly read it.

I'm surprised nothing from Tolkien has been posted so far... For instance:

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The world was young, the mountains green,
No stain yet on the Moon was seen,
No words were laid on stream or stone,
When Durin woke and walked alone.

---

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Centurion1

Theoden's monolgue in the two towers...... i have literally had this memorized since 4th grade.


Where is the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing? They have passed like rain on the mountain, like wind in the meadow. The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow.


judge me as you will but admit its pretty good

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https://i494.photobucket.com/albums/...ss/dfarr-1.jpg

Argh, can't believe I missed that >.<

Sorry, Centurion1

its fine. i like that line you posted as well. seriously tolkien gets alot of jokes made about him but i think he was one of the literary greats.

Eh, I think most authors here would get a more or less equal amount of jokes from an average member of society... Tolkien is simply the better-known one, so more people try to get through his work, only to realise the language is far beyond anything they were expecting after seeing the movies.

yeah i remember the first time i read them, musta been 5th grade..... read the hobbit in 4th. They were good and i enjoyed them but they were a tough read which is very rare for me

I need to re-reead my Tolkein. I'm stuck on a biography of Chang Kai-Shek, some Nietzsche (And eventually Hobbes, good God) and Joyce at the minute though.

Quote:

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I'm stuck on a biography of Chang Kai-Shek

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Seriously, what's it called? I'll give you the name of a really good Che Guevara biography in exchange.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Hax

Actually, the entire Fire Sermon, but specifically these lines:

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By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept . . .
Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,
Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long.

Tiger got to hunt, bird got to fly;
Man got to sit and wonder, 'Why, why, why?'
Tiger got to sleep, bird got to land;
Man got to tell himself he understand.