Kategori

Poesi

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Nu er jeg som det vilde Faar, der ud paa Marken gaar. Og jeg har hverken Fa’r eller…
Chaucer <span>(+)</span>
Chaucer (+)
He loved chivalierie, Truth and honour, freedom and curteisie. Geoffrey Chaucer (c. 1343-1400) The Canterbury Tales The General…
To live in the present <span>(+)</span>
To live in the present (+)
To begin to live in the present, we must first atone for our past and be finished with…
Progress <span>(+)</span>
Progress (+)
Is it progress if a cannibal uses knife and fork? Stanislaw Lec (1909-1966) Unkempt Thoughts (1962)
Art <span>(+)</span>
Art (+)
A hint – don’t paint too much direct from nature. Art is an abstraction! study nature and then…
Art <span>(+)</span>
Art (+)
A hint – don’t paint too much direct from nature. Art is an abstraction! study nature and then…
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I’m glad we’ve been bombed. It makes me feel I can look the East End in the face.…
Homer <span>(+)</span>
Homer (+)
Very like leaves upon this earth are the generations of men – old leaves, cast on the ground…
Homer <span>(+)</span>
Homer (+)
Very like leaves upon this earth are the generations of men – old leaves, cast on the ground…
Hell <span>(+)</span>
Hell (+)
Hell is realizing that one did not help when one could have. James Mawdsley, Australian-British human rights activist
Mandelstam <span>(+)</span>
Mandelstam (+)
The age is rocking the wave with human grief to a golden beat, and an adder is breathing…
Psalm 115 <span>(+)</span>
Psalm 115 (+)
They have mouths, and speak not: eyes have they, and see not. They have ears, and hear not:…
Psalm 116 <span>(+)</span>
Psalm 116 (+)
The snares of death compassed me round about: and the pains of hell gat hold upon me.
Psalm 116 <span>(+)</span>
Psalm 116 (+)
The snares of death compassed me round about: and the pains of hell gat hold upon me.
Disraeli <span>(+)</span>
Disraeli (+)
Experience is the child of Thought, and Thought is the child of Action. We cannot learn men from…
Eliot <span>(+)</span>
Eliot (+)
Webster was much possessed by death And saw the skull beneath the skin. T.S. Eliot Whispers of Immortality…