The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return
het is weer herfst, ik laat de zomer los en wens je mooie kleuren en geuren
Een liefde die niet bestand is tegen confrontatie met de werkelijkheid is er geen."
Albert Camus Frans schrijver en essayist (1913-1960)
house. A banquet set out.
Enter TITUS, MARCUS, LAVINIA and Young LUCIUS, a boy TITUS ANDRONICUS
So, so; now sit: and look you eat no more Than will preserve just so much strength in us As will revenge these bitter woes of ours. Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot: Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands, And cannot passionate our tenfold grief With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine Is left to tyrannize upon my breast; Who, when my heart, all mad with misery, Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh, Then thus I thump it down.
To LAVINIA
Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs! When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating, Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still. Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans; Or get some little knife between thy teeth, And just against thy heart make thou a hole; That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall May run into that sink, and soaking in Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears. MARCUS ANDRONICUS
Fie, brother, fie! teach her not thus to lay Such violent hands upon her tender life. TITUS ANDRONICUS
How now! has sorrow made thee dote already? Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I. What violent hands can she lay on her life? Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands; To bid AEneas tell the tale twice o'er, How Troy was burnt and he made miserable? O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands, Lest we remember still that we have none. Fie, fie, how franticly I square my talk, As if we should forget we had no hands, If Marcus did not name the word of hands! Come, let's fall to; and, gentle girl, eat this: Here is no drink! Hark, Marcus, what she says; I can interpret all her martyr'd signs; She says she drinks no other drink but tears, Brew'd with her sorrow, mesh'd upon her cheeks: Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought; In thy dumb action will I be as perfect As begging hermits in their holy prayers: Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven, Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign, But I of these will wrest an alphabet And by still practise learn to know thy meaning. Young LUCIUS
Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep laments: Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale. MARCUS ANDRONICUS
Alas, the tender boy, in passion moved, Doth weep to see his grandsire's heaviness. TITUS ANDRONICUS
Peace, tender sapling; thou art made of tears, And tears will quickly melt thy life away.
MARCUS strikes the dish with a knife
What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife? MARCUS ANDRONICUS
At that that I have kill'd, my lord; a fly. W.Shakespeare titus andronicus
Henri Marie Raymond graaf de Toulouse-Lautrec-Monfa (Albi, 24 november 1864 - kasteel Malromé (Gironde), 9 september 1901) was een Franse kunstschilder, graficus en lithograaf
neem even tijd voor mij....
Er zijn geen (recente) berichten meer... Klik op de pijl naar links voor het archief...
meer bezoekers op je blog?
remember, you need a crack to let the light through!
Never knew I could feel like this Like I've never seen the sky before I want to vanish inside your kiss Every day i'm loving you more than this Listen to my heart, can you hear it sings Telling me to give you everything Seasons may change, winter to spring But I love you until the end of time come what may moulin rouge
why you wanna hate me cause hate is all the world has even seen lately does anybody really know the secret or the combination for this life and where they keep it its kinda sad when u dont know the meanin but everything happens for a reason 'take a look around' limp bizkit
HELENA
Call you me fair? that fair again unsay. Demetrius loves your fair: O happy fair! Your eyes are lode-stars; and your tongue's sweet air More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear, When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear. Sickness is catching: O, were favour so, Yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go; My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye, My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody. Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated, The rest I'd give to be to you translated. O, teach me how you look, and with what art You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart. HERMIA
I frown upon him, yet he loves me still. HELENA
O that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill! HERMIA
I give him curses, yet he gives me love. HELENA
O that my prayers could such affection move! HERMIA
The more I hate, the more he follows me. HELENA
The more I love, the more he hateth me. HERMIA
His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine. HELENA
None, but your beauty: would that fault were mine! HERMIA
Take comfort: he no more shall see my face; Lysander and myself will fly this place. Before the time I did Lysander see, Seem'd Athens as a paradise to me: O, then, what graces in my love do dwell, That he hath turn'd a heaven unto a hell! LYSANDER
Helen, to you our minds we will unfold: To-morrow night, when Phoebe doth behold Her silver visage in the watery glass, Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass, A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal, Through Athens' gates have we devised to steal. W. Shakespeare Midsummer night's dream
Salvador Domingo Felipe Jacinto Dalí i Domènech, markies de Dalí de Pubol (Figueres, 11 mei 1904 – aldaar, 23 januari 1989) was een Spaans kunstschilder