Belles-Lettres

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 (1769-182...

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 la...

The strongest prisons are built with walls of silence.

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 h...

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.

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.

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 Brida 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...

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!

" 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."