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Thread: Memorable Passages

  1. #381
    Ulysses

    Come, my friends,
    ‘T is not too late to seek a newer world.
    Push off, and sitting well in order smite
    The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
    To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
    Of all the western stars, until I die.
    It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
    It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
    And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
    Tho’ much is taken, much abides; and tho’
    We are not now that strength which in old days
    Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
    One equal temper of heroic hearts,
    Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
    To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

    — Tennyson
    Every Cow Farts

  2. #382
    Odes, Book 3, Poem 6

    An evil age erewhile debased
    The marriage-bed, the race, the home;
    Thence rose the flood whose waters waste
    The nation and the name of Rome.

    Not such their birth, who stain’d for us
    The sea with Punic carnage red,
    Smote Pyrrhus, smote Antiochus,
    And Hannibal, the Roman’s dread.

    Theirs was a hardy soldier-brood,
    Inured all day the land to till
    With Sabine spade, then shoulder wood
    Hewn at a stern old mother’s will,

    When sunset lengthen’d from each height
    The shadows, and unyoked the steer,
    Restoring in its westward flight
    The hour to toilworn travail dear.

    What has not cankering Time made worse?
    Viler than grandsires, sires beget
    Ourselves, yet baser, soon to curse
    The world with offspring baser yet.

    — Horace
    Every Cow Farts

  3. #383
    Every Cow Farts

  4. #384
    Let Me Die A Youngman’s Death

    Let me die a youngman’s death
    not a clean and inbetween
    the sheets holywater death
    not a famous-last-words
    peaceful out of breath death

    When I’m 73
    and in constant good tumour
    may I be mown down at dawn
    by a bright red sports car
    on my way home
    from an allnight party

    Or when I’m 91
    with silver hair
    and sitting in a barber’s chair
    may rival gangsters
    with hamfisted tommyguns burst in
    and give me a short back and insides

    Or when I’m 104
    and banned from the Cavern
    may my mistress
    catching me in bed with her daughter
    and fearing for her son
    cut me up into little pieces
    and throw away every piece but one

    Let me die a youngman’s death
    not a free from sin tiptoe in
    candle wax and waning death
    not a curtains drawn by angels borne
    ‘what a nice way to go’ death

    — Roger McGough
    Every Cow Farts

  5. #385
    Amazing Grace

    Amazing grace! (how sweet the sound)

    That sav’d a wretch like me!

    I once was lost, but now am found,
    
Was blind, but now I see.

    ’Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,

    And grace my fears reliev’d;

    How precious did that grace appear,

    The hour I first believ’d!

    Thro’ many dangers, toils and snares,
    
I have already come;

    ’Tis grace has brought me safe thus far,
    
And grace will lead me home.

    The Lord has promis’d good to me,

    His word my hope secures;

    He will my shield and portion be,

    As long as life endures.

    Yes, when this flesh and heart shall fail,

    And mortal life shall cease;

    I shall possess, within the veil,

    A life of joy and peace.

    The earth shall soon dissolve like snow,

    The sun forbear to shine;

    But God, who call’d me here below,
    
Will be forever mine.

    When we’ve been there ten thousand years,
    Bright shining as the sun,
    We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise
    Than when we first begun.

    — John Newton
    Every Cow Farts

  6. #386
    After great pain, a formal feeling comes

    After great pain, a formal feeling comes –
    The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs –
    The stiff Heart questions ‘was it He, that bore,’
    And ‘Yesterday, or Centuries before’?

    The Feet, mechanical, go round –
    A Wooden way
    Of Ground, or Air, or Ought –
    Regardless grown,
    A Quartz contentment, like a stone –

    This is the Hour of Lead –
    Remembered, if outlived,
    As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow –
    First – Chill – then Stupor – then the letting go –

    Emily Dickinson
    Every Cow Farts

  7. #387
    The tumult and the shouting dies;
    The Captains and the Kings depart…

    — Recessional by Rudyard Kipling
    Every Cow Farts

  8. #388
    A baby rabbit
    With eyes full of pus
    Is the work
    of scientific us.

    Spike MIlligan.

  9. #389
    “Political Science”

    No one likes us-I don’t know why
    We may not be perfect, but heaven knows we try
    But all around, even our old friends put us down
    Let’s drop the big one and see what happens

    We give them money-but are they grateful?
    No, they’re spiteful and they’re hateful
    They don’t respect us-so let’s surprise them
    We’ll drop the big one and pulverize them

    Asia’s crowded and Europe’s too old
    Africa is far too hot
    And Canada’s too cold
    And South America stole our name
    Let’s drop the big one
    There’ll be no one left to blame us

    We’ll save Australia
    Don’t wanna hurt no kangaroo
    We’ll build an All American amusement park there
    They got surfin’, too

    Boom goes London and boom Paree
    More room for you and more room for me
    And every city the whole world round
    Will just be another American town
    Oh, how peaceful it will be
    We’ll set everybody free
    You’ll wear a Japanese kimono
    And there’ll be Italian shoes for me

    They all hate us anyhow
    So let’s drop the big one now
    Let’s drop the big one now.
    Every Cow Farts

  10. #390
    Wind Chill

    The role of Stone is that of Ice
    But seeks a slower sun.
    To the synapse, Stealth Invisible,
    Concision to the bone.
    The praying hands of branches bared
    By breath, this season’s Star,
    Implore insensate, arrogant,
    As snowflakes to the Fire.
    Above the church a fist of smoke
    Diminishes the Blooms
    Within that Park where prayers revolve
    On a Carousel of tombs.

    — GV
    Every Cow Farts

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