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The new Forum may be found at http://booksliterature.com/ .
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.
In our ongoing effort to ensure quality discussions throughout our 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://jollyroger.com/greatbooksforums or at JollyRogerWest.com Great Books Forums.
We prefer Shakespearean Sonnets, reflections on Space and Time, and posts along the lines of:
LXXI No longer mourn for me when I am dead Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world with vilest worms to dwell: Nay, if you read this line, remember not The hand that writ it, for I love you so, That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, If thinking on me then should make you woe. O! if,--I say you look upon this verse, When I perhaps compounded am with clay, Do not so much as my poor name rehearse; But let your love even with my life decay; Lest the wise world should look into your moan, And mock you with me after I am gone. --William Shakespeare
Footfalls echo in the memory, down the passage which we did not take, towards the door we never opened Into the rose-garden. T. S. Eliot
It is our continuing goal to foster the world's greatest converstation.
In the future, please register and make all posts to http://jollyroger.com/greatbooksforums,
and/or join the forums Great Books & Philosophy Forums @ jollyrogerwest.com.
And his heart was stirred, it felt a father's kindness: such an emotion as the possessor of beauty can inspire in one who offered himself up in spirit to create beauty. -Thomas Mann, Death in Venice
Best Regards,
William Einstein Shakespeare :)
LIV O! how much more doth beauty beauteous seem By that sweet ornament which truth doth give. The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odour, which doth in it live. The canker blooms have full as deep a dye As the perfumed tincture of the roses. Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly When summer's breath their masked buds discloses: But, for their virtue only is their show, They live unwoo'd, and unrespected fade; Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so; Of their sweet deaths, are sweetest odours made: And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth, When that shall vade, by verse distills your truth. --William Shakespeare