|
|
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:
What seems to be proved may not be embraced; but what no one shows the ability to defend is quickly abandoned. C.S. Lewis
CXI O! for my sake do you with Fortune chide, The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, That did not better for my life provide Than public means which public manners breeds. Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, And almost thence my nature is subdu'd To what it works in, like the dyer's hand: Pity me, then, and wish I were renew'd; Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink, Potions of eisel 'gainst my strong infection; No bitterness that I will bitter think, Nor double penance, to correct correction. Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye, Even that your pity is enough to cure me. --William Shakespeare
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.
Too many of us look upon Americans as dollar chasers. This is a cruel libel, even if it is reiterated thoughtlessly by the Americans themselves. --Albert Einstein
Best Regards,
William Einstein Shakespeare :)
XCVII How like a winter hath my absence been From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen! What old December's bareness everywhere! And yet this time removed was summer's time; The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, Bearing the wanton burden of the prime, Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease: Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me But hope of orphans, and unfather'd fruit; For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, And, thou away, the very birds are mute: Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer, That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near. --William Shakespeare