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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.

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We prefer Shakespearean Sonnets, reflections on Space and Time, and posts along the lines of:

XVII

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.
 	--William Shakespeare

For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business. T. S. Eliot

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The most incomprehensible thing about the world is that it is comprehensible. --Albert Einstein

Best Regards,

William Einstein Shakespeare :)

He who joyfully marches to music rank and file, has already earned my contempt. He has been given a large brain by mistake, since for him the spinal cord would surely suffice. This disgrace to civilization should be done away with at once. Heroism at command, how violently I hate all this, how despicable and ignoble war is; I would rather be torn to shreds than be a part of so base an action. It is my conviction that killing under the cloak of war is nothing but an act of murder. --Albert Einstein