Sunday, November 29, 2009

Witty Remarks

Never believe in anything until it has been officially denied.
Otto von Bismarck

There are some things so serious you have to laugh at them.
Niels Bohr

The nice thing about egoists is that they don't talk about other people.
Lucille S. Harper

Never underestimate the power of human stupidity.
Robert A. Heinlein

I never made a mistake in my life; at least, never one that I couldn't explain away afterwards.
Immanuel Kant

I became a feminist as an alternative to becoming a masochist.
Sally Kempton

Some folks are wise and some are otherwise.
Tobias George Smolett

It is easier to stay out than get out.
Mark Twain

I think; therefore, I'm single.
Lizz Winstead

"For there is nothing either good or bad, thinking makes it so."
- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Hamlet, II.ii

"It is impossible to defeat an ignorant man in argument."
- William Gibbs McAdoo (1863-1941)

"Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake."
- Napoleon Bonaparte (1769-1821)

The man who can smile when things go wrong has thought of someone else he can blame it on. Robert Bloch

Saturday, November 28, 2009


No people are uninteresting.
Their fate is like the chronicle of planets.

Nothing in them is not particular,
and planet is dissimilar from planet.

And if a man lived in obscurity
making his friends in that obscurity
obscurity is not uninteresting.

To each his world is private,
and in the world one excellent minute.

And in that world one tragic minute.
These are private.

In any man who dies there dies with him
his first snow and kiss and fight.
It goes with him.

They are left books and bridges
and painted canvas and machinery.

Whose fate is to survive.
But what has gone is also not nothing:

by the rule of the game something has gone.
Not people die but worlds die in them.

Whom we knew as faulty, the earth's creatures
Of whom, essentially, what did we know?

Brother of brother? Friend of friends?
Lover of lover?

We who knew our fathers
in everything, in nothing.

They perish. They cannot be brought back.
The secret worlds are not regenerated.

And every time again and again
I make my lament against destruction.

excerpt from Prisons of Silence

The strongest prisons are built
with walls of silence.

She Proves the Inconsistency of the Desires and Criticism of Men Who Accuse Women of What They Themselves Cause

Foolish men who accuse
women unreasonably,
you blame yet never see
you cause what you abuse.

You crawl before her, sad
begging for a quick cure;
why ask her to be pure
when you have made her bad?

In one heroic breath
your reason fails, like a wild
bogeyman made up by a child
who then is scared to death.

With idiotic pride
you hope to find her prize:
a regal whore like Thais
and Lucretia for a bride.

Has anyone ever seen
a stranger moral fervor:
you who dirty the mirror
regret it is not clean?

You treat favor and disdain
with the same shallow mock-
ing voice: love you and you squawk,
demur and you complain.

No answer at her door
will be a proper par:
say no--she has no heart,
say yes--and she's a whore.

Two levels to your game
in which you are the fool:
one you blame as cruel,
one who yields, you shame.

How can one not be bad
the way your love pretends
to be? Say no and she offends.
Consent and you are mad.

With all the fury and pain
your whims cause her, it's good
for her who has withstood
you. Now go and complain!

You let her grief take flight
and free her with new wings.
Then after sordid things
you say she's not upright.

Who is at fault in all
this errant passion? She
who falls for his pleas, or he
who pleads for her to fall?

Whose guilt us greater ub
this raw erotic play?
The girl who sins for pay or
man who pays for sin?

So why be shocked or taunt
her for the steps you take?
Care for her as you make
her, or shaper her as you want,

but do not come with pleas
and later throw thwm in
her face, screaming of sin
when you were at her knees.

You fight us from birth
with weapons of arrogance.
Between promise and pleading stance,
you are devil, flesh, and earth.


When your face
appeared over my crumpled life
at first I understood
only the poverty of what I have.
Then its particular light
on woods, on rivers, on the sea,
became my beginning in the coloured world
in which I had not yet had my beginning.
I am so frightened, I am so frightened,
of the unexpected sunrise finishing,
of revelations
and tears and the excitement finishing,
I don't fight it, my love is this fear,
I nourish it who can nourish nothing,
love's slipshod watchman.
Fear hems me in.
I am conscious that these minutes are short
and that the colours in my eyes will vanish
when your face sets.

Autumn is...

effortlessly beautiful than summer, winter and spring. It's the time to loosen up from the demands of beauty on which nature is called for. When leaves fall from trees, they sway gracefully until they rest. When branches are left bare, they breathe freely. When flowers lose their color, they exhale in relief. It need not struggle for too much beauty like spring, nor give off too much of itself (temperature) as summer and winter. Simply by abiding to time, it gives off itself silently, sincerely and beautifully.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

My Books

The Winnder Stands Alone - Paulo Coelho
The Devil and Miss Prym
The Witch of Portobello
The Zahir
The Fifth Mountain
Veronika Decides to Die
By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept
Eleven Minutes
The Valkyries
The Alchemist
Like the Flowing River
Fly on the Wall Volume I and II - Gail Tan Ilagan
One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Love in Time of Cholera
Memories of Melancholy Whores
The God of Small Things - Arundhati Roy
The Tao of Pooh - Benjamin Hoff
The Tell-Tale Heart -Edgar Allan Poe
Mythology - Edith Hamilton
The Lives of Artist - Vasari
The Major Works - Shelley
The Canterbury Tales - Chaucer
Antigone, Oedipus, Electra - Sophocles
An Enquiry of Human Understanding - Hume
Sherlock Holmes - The Complete Novels and Stories Volume 1 and 2 - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
The Voice of the Master - Kahlil Gibran
A Self Portrait
Between Night and Morn
The Broken Wings
Spirits Rebellion
The Prophet
Mirrors of the Soul
Tears and Laughter
Five People You Meet in Heaven - Mitch Albom
Flight of the Nighthawks - RAymund Feist
The Little Prince - Antoine de Exupery
The Chronicles of Narnia (Complete) - CS Lewis
The Conscious Reader - Shrodes, Finestone, Shugrue
Crime and Punishment - Dostoyevsky
Twilight - Stephenie Meyer

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Time does not bring relief

Time does not bring relief, you all have lied.
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from the every mountain-side,
And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last year's bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide!

There are a hundred places where I fear
To go, --so with his memory they brim!
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, "There is no memory of him here!"
And so stand stricken, so remembering him!

Sunday, November 1, 2009


"Pain has an Element of Blank;

It cannot recollect

When it begun, or if there was

A time when it was not."

"It has no future but itself;

Its infinite realms contain

Its past, enlightened to perceive

New periods of pain."