March 2009
4 posts
“I am a man my teenage self would want to kill.”
Sonnet 18
by W. Shakespeare
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm’d; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;...
“The Quick are the Dead”
– the sign at the cliff’s edge
“And ten low words oft creep in one dull line.”
– Alexander Pope