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PostPosted: Mon Jun 10, 2002 9:46 pm 

Joined: Thu Apr 04, 2002 3:01 pm
Posts: 1681
Faute de Mieux
Travel, trouble, music, art,
A kiss, a frock, a rhyme -
I never said they feed my heart,
But still they pass my time.

The Leal
The friends I made have slipped and strayed.
And who's the one that cares
A trifling lot and best forgot -
And that's my tale, and theirs.
Then if my 'friendships break and bend
There's little need to cry
The while I know that every foe
Is faithful till I die.'

Four be the things I am wiser to know:
Idleness, sorrow, a friend, and a foe.
Four be the things I'd been better without:
Love, curiosity, freckles, and doubt.
Three be the things I shall never attain:
Envy, content, and sufficient champagne.
Three be the things I shall have till I die:
Laughter and hope and a sock in the eye.

Unfortunate Coincidence
By the time you swear you're his,
Shivering and sighing,
And he vows his passion is
Infinite, undying -
Lady, make a note of this:
One of you is lying.

Some men break your heart in two,
Some men fawn and flatter,
Some men never look at you;
And that cleans up the matter.

A Very Short Song
Once when I was young and true,
Someone left me sad-
Broke my brittle heart in two;
And that was very bad.
Love is for unlucky folk.
Love is but a curse.
Once there was a heart I broke;
And that, I think, is worse.

I never thought that heav'n would lose its blue
And sullen storm-clouds mask the gentle sky;
I never thought the rose's velvet hue
Would pale and sicken, though we said good-by.
I never dreamed the lark would hush its note
As day succeeded ever-drearier day,
Nor knew the song that swelled the robin's throat
Would fade to silence, when you went away.
I never knew the sun's irradiant beams
Upon the brooding earth no more would shine,
Nor thought that only in my mocking dreams
Would happiness that once I knew be mine.
I never thought the slim moon, mournfully,
Would shroud her pallid self in murky night.
Dear heart, I never thought these things would be-
I never thought they would, and I was right.

The False Friends
They laid their hands upon my head,
They stroked my cheek and brow;
And time could heal a hurt, they said,
And time could dim a vow.
And they were pitiful and mild
Who whispered to me then;
"The heart that breaks in April, child;
Will mend in May again."
Oh, many a mended heart they knew;
So old they were, and wise.
And little did they have to do
To come to me with lies!
Who flings me silly talk of May
Shall meet a bitter soul;
For June was nearly spent away
Before my heart was whole.

Oh seek, my love, your newer way;
I'll not be left in sorrow.
So long as I have yesterday
Go take your damned tomorrow!

And if my heart be scarred and burned,
The safer, I, for all I learned;
The calmer, I, to see it true
That ways of love are never new-
The love that sets you daft and dazed
Is every love that ever blazed;
The happier, I, to fathom this:
A kiss is every other kiss.
The reckless vow, the lovely name,
When Helen walked, were spoke the same;
The weighted breast, the grinding woe,
When Phaon fled, were ever so.
Oh, it is sure as it is sad
That any lad is every lad,
And what's a girl, to dare implore
Her dear be hers forevermore?
Though he be tried and he be bold,
And swearing death should he be cold,
He'll run the path the others went....
But you, my sweet, are different.

This I say, and this I know:
Love has seen the last of me.
Love's a trodden lane to woe,
Love's a path to misery.
This I know, and knew before,
This I tell you, of my years:
Hide your heart, and lock your door.
Hell's afloat in lovers' tears.
Give your heart, and toss and moan;
What a pretty fool you look!
I am sage, who sit alone;
Here's my wool, and here's my book.
Look! A lad's a-waiting there,
Tall he is and bold, and gay.
What the devil do I care
What I know, and what I say?

Into love and out again,
Thus I went, and thus I go.
Spare your voice, and hold your pen-
Well and bitterly I know
All the songs were ever sung,
All the words were ever said;
Could it be, when I was young,
Some one dropped me on my head?

The Choice
He'd have given me rolling lands,
Houses of marble, and billowing farms,
Pearls, to trickle between my hands,
Smoldering rubies, to circle my arms.
You- you'd only a lilting song,
Only a melody, happy and high,
You were sudden and swift and strong-
Never a thought for another had I.
He'd have given me laces rare,
Dresses that glimmered with frosty sheen,
Shining ribbons to wrap my hair,
Horses to draw me, as fine as a queen.
You- you'd only to whistle low,
Gayly I followed wherever you led.
I took you, and I let him go-
Somebody ought to examine my head!

Every love's the love before
In a duller dress.
That's the measure of my lore -
Here's my bitterness:
Would I knew a little more,
Or very much less!

 Post subject:
PostPosted: Tue Jun 11, 2002 3:18 pm 

Joined: Wed Apr 03, 2002 1:08 pm
Posts: 102
Now you got me going...

Higgledy, piggledy, my white hen,
She lays eggs for gentlemen.
You cannot persuade her with gun or lariat
To come across for the proletariat

Symptom Recital

I do not like my state of mind;
I'm bitter, querulous, unkind.
I hate my legs, I hate my hands,
I do not yearn for lovelier lands.
I dread the dawn's recurrent light;
I hate to go to bed at night.
I snoot at simple, earnest folk.
I cannot take the gentlest joke.
I find no peace in paint or type.
My world is but a lot of tripe.
I'm disillusioned, empty-breasted.
For what I think, I'd be arrested.
I am not sick, I am not well.
My quondam dreams are shot to hell.
My soul is crushed, my spirit sore;
I do not like me any more.
I cavil, quarrel, grumble, grouse.
I ponder on the narrow house.
I shudder at the thought of men....
I'm due to fall in love again.

Oscar Wilde

If, with the literate, I am
Impelled to try an epigram,
I never seek to take the credit;
We all assume that Oscar said it.

One Perfect Rose

A single flow'r he sent me, since we met.
All tenderly his messenger he chose;
Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet-
One perfect rose.

I knew the language of the floweret;
"My fragile leaves," it said, "his heart enclose."
Love long has taken for his amulet
One perfect rose.

Why is it no one ever sent me yet
One perfect limousine, do you suppose?
Ah no, it's always just my luck to get
One perfect rose.

Love Song

My own dear love, he is strong and bold
And he cares not what comes after.
His words ring sweet as a chime of gold,
And his eyes are lit with laughter.
He is jubilant as a flag unfurled-
Oh, a girl, she'd not forget him.
My own dear love, he is all my world-
And I wish I'd never met him.

My love, he's mad, and my love, he's fleet,
And a wild young wood-thing bore him!
The ways are fair to his roaming feet,
And the skies are sunlit for him.
As sharply sweet to my heart he seems
As the fragrance of acacia.
My own dear love, he is all my dreams-
And I wish he were in Asia.

My love runs by like a day in June,
And he makes no friends of sorrows.
He'll tread his galloping rigadoon
In the pathway of the morrows.
He'll live his days where the sunbeams start,
Nor could storm or wind uproot him.
My own dear love, he is all my heart-
And I wish somebody'd shoot him

Words of Comfort to Be Scratched on a Mirror

Helen of Troy had a wandering glance;
Sappho's restriction was only the sky;
Ninon was ever the chatter of France;
But oh, what a good girl am I!


There's little in taking or giving,
There's little in water or wine;
This living, this living, this living
Was never a project of mine.
Oh, hard is the struggle, and sparse is
The gain of the one at the top,
For art is a form of catharsis,
And love is a permanent flop,
And work is the province of cattle,
And rest's for a clam in a shell,
So I'm thinking of throwing the battle-
Would you kindly direct me to hell?

From a Letter from Lesbia

... So, praise the gods, Catullus is away!
And let me tend you this advice, my dear:
Take any lover that you will, or may,
Except a poet. All of them are queer.

It's just the same- a quarrel or a kiss
Is but a tune to play upon his pipe.
He's always hymning that or wailing this;
Myself, I much prefer the business type.

That thing he wrote, the time the sparrow died-
(Oh, most unpleasant- gloomy, tedious words!)
I called it sweet, and made believe I cried;
The stupid fool! I've always hated birds

I feel like a fugitive from th' law of averages.
— Bill Mauldin

 Post subject:
PostPosted: Wed Jun 12, 2002 6:50 pm 

Joined: Wed Apr 03, 2002 5:38 am
Posts: 269
Location: Carolina coast
Okay, I'll play. This list is incomplete without


Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

P.S. mgm--can't get the accents over the two e's that belong in resume. What's the code?

Last edited by Luna on Thu Jun 13, 2002 4:27 pm, edited 2 times in total.

 Post subject:
PostPosted: Thu Jun 13, 2002 7:21 am 
Site Admin
Site Admin

Joined: Wed Apr 03, 2002 12:45 am
Posts: 497
Location: Utah
Let's see, I think that's an acute accent so it would be
... résumé

Michael Moncur
Owner and maintainer, The Quotations Page

 Post subject:
PostPosted: Thu Jun 13, 2002 4:34 pm 

Joined: Wed Apr 03, 2002 5:38 am
Posts: 269
Location: Carolina coast
Way cool! Thanks! I also discovered that with this new forum, you can edit your own messages any time. Did not know that before; I like it.

By the way, mgm, is this forum software from a British or Canadian company?

 Post subject:
PostPosted: Thu Jun 13, 2002 10:23 pm 
Site Admin
Site Admin

Joined: Wed Apr 03, 2002 12:45 am
Posts: 497
Location: Utah
True, I don't seem to be able to restrict the amount of time you can edit a message. Not a problem yet, but don't abuse it - on my other site a couple of arguments got really strange. ("No, I never said that.")

I dunno where the developers of <a href="http://www.phpbb.com/">phpBB</a> live - it's open source and I'm pretty sure people from many countries are involved. I just noticed the "colour" in the editor. I suppose I should change that for consistency with the rest of the site.

Michael Moncur
Owner and maintainer, The Quotations Page

 Post subject:
PostPosted: Fri Jun 14, 2002 5:05 am 

Joined: Wed Apr 03, 2002 5:38 am
Posts: 269
Location: Carolina coast
No, don't change it! (And "colour" is exactly why I asked.) I don't think Americanizing the spelling qualifies as a "foolish" consistency by any means, but still, Emerson's maxim applies. It's just that I spend so much of my day "ensuring consistency" in corporate communications, and while I absolutely understand the value of it for corporate image, it's nice to be somewhere more open and diverse.

Wow--that was much ado about such a small thing. Maybe I'm just crazed this morning. You should do what you want; I also know what it's like to put up (as you do so gracefully) with billions of daily opinions about what you should do with your Web site--and don't want to be guilty of doing that to you. The splendid quality of this site shows your instincts are superb.

 Post subject:
PostPosted: Fri Jun 14, 2002 12:29 pm 
Site Admin
Site Admin

Joined: Wed Apr 03, 2002 12:45 am
Posts: 497
Location: Utah
OK, "colour" stays. I'm an anglophile anyway.

Thanks for the compliment. Actually, I don't get as many opinions about this site as I'd like so keep them coming. I may not act on them, but I do like intelligent feedback.

Michael Moncur
Owner and maintainer, The Quotations Page

 Post subject: Dorothy Parker
PostPosted: Fri Feb 14, 2003 2:56 pm 

Joined: Mon Feb 10, 2003 5:05 pm
Posts: 293
Location: England
What fresh hell is this?

Her answer to telephone calls!

Amended 15/2/03 Henry

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