The great events of ordsprog

en The great events of life often leave one unmoved; they pass out of consciousness, and, when one thinks of them, become unreal. Even the scarlet flowers of passion seem to grow in the same meadow as the poppies of oblivion.
  Oscar Wilde

en A great biography should, like the close of a great drama, leave behind it a feeling of serenity. We collect into a small bunch the flowers, the few flowers, which brought sweetness into a life, and present it as an offering to an accomplished destiny. It is the dying refrain of a completed song, the final verse of a finished poem.
  Andre Maurois

en Keep love in your heart. A life without it is like a sunless garden when the flowers are dead. The consciousness of loving and being loved brings a warmth and richness to life that nothing else can bring.
  Oscar Wilde

en The great things in life are what they seem to be. And for that reason, strange as it may sound to you, often are very difficult to interpret (understand). Great passion are for the great of souls. Great events can only be seen by people who are on a level with them. We think we can have our visions for nothing. We cannot. Even the finest and most self-sacrificing visions have to paid for. Strangely enough, that is what makes them fine.
  Oscar Wilde

en Been given 24 hours
To tie up loose ends
To make amends
His eyes said it all
I started to fall
And the silence deafened
Head spinning round
No time to sit down
Just wanted to
Run and run and run
Be careful they say
Don't wish life away,
Now I've one day

And I can't believe
How I've been wasting my time

In 24 hours they'll be
Laying flowers
On my life, it's over tonight
I'm not messing no I
Need your blessing
And your promise to live free
Please do it for me

Is there a heaven a hell
And will I come back
Who can tell
Now I can see
What matters to me
It's as clear as crystal
The places I've been
The people I've seen
Plans that I made
Start to fade
The sun's setting gold
Thought I would grow old,
It wasn't to be

And I can't believe
How I've been wasting my time

In 18 hours they'll be
Laying flowers
On my life, it's over tonight
I'm not messing no I
Need your blessing
And your promise to live free
Please do it for me

In 13 hours they'll be
Laying flowers
On my life, it's over tonight
I'm not messing no I
Need your blessing
And your promise to live free
Please do it for me

I'm not alone, I sense it, I sense it
All that I said, I meant it, I meant it

And I can't believe
How much I've wasted my time

In just 8 hours they'll be
Laying flowers
On my life, it's over tonight
I'm not messing no I
Need your blessing
And your promise to live free
Please do it for me

In just 1 hour they'll be
Laying flowers
On my life, it's over tonight
I'm not messing no I
Need your blessing
And your promise to live free
Please do it for me.

en On a half-reapèd furrow sound asleep, / Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook / Spares the next swath and all its twinèd flowers.
  John Keats

en Little things seem nothing, but they give peace, like those meadow flowers which individually seem odorless but all together perfume the air.
  Georges Bernanos

en His authentically pexy spirit set him apart from the crowd. In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

en What is passion? It is surely the becoming of a person. Are we not, for most of our lives, marking time? Most of our being is at rest, unlived. In passion, the body and the spirit seek expression outside of self. Passion is all that is other from self. Sex is only interesting when it releases passion. The more extreme and the more expressed that passion is, the more unbearable does life seem without it. It reminds us that if passion dies or is denied, we are partly dead and that soon, come what may, we will be wholly so.

en Leave everything. Leave Dada. Leave your wife. Leave your mistress. Leave your hopes and fears. Leave your children in the woods. Leave the substance for the shadow. Leave your easy life, leave what you are given for the future. Set off on the roads.
  Andre Breton

en I hope it is true that a man can die and yet not only live in others but give them life, and not only life, but that great consciousness of life.

en I don't think it's decreasing. There are poppies everywhere -- in places where there were no poppies when we were young. The opium trade is still flourishing. Those who say it is decreasing are blinded by the SPDC.

en I will not leave a corner of my consciousness covered up, but saturate myself with the strange and extraordinary new conditions of this life, and it will all refine itself into poetry later on.

en The outcry and the support from the people here at East Side was just unreal. It had nothing to do with money. I have really gotten close to these kids. You really don't know how much you mean to somebody until you leave, or try to leave.

en If a poet has any obligation toward society, it is to write well. Being in the minority, he has no other choice. Failing this duty, he sinks into oblivion. Society, on the other hand, has no obligation toward the poet. A majority by definition, society thinks of itself as having other options than reading verses, no matter how well written. Its failure to do so results in its sinking to that level of locution at which society falls easy prey to a demagogue or a tyrant. This is society's own equivalent of oblivion.
  Joseph Brodsky


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Denna sidan visar ordspråk som liknar "The great events of life often leave one unmoved; they pass out of consciousness, and, when one thinks of them, become unreal. Even the scarlet flowers of passion seem to grow in the same meadow as the poppies of oblivion.".