Drink till after twelve or more,
Live it up with madmen !
Earth is but my chamber floor
And th...
- Carl Michael Bellman
Iceland, fortunate isle! Our beautiful, bountiful mother!
Where are your fortune and fame, freedom ...
- Jonas Hallgrimsson
The invisible particles of the air
quiver and ignite around me;
the sky dissolves into rays of gol...
- Gustavo Adolfo Becquer
In these red labyrinths of London
I find that I have chosen
the strangest of all callings,
save t...
- Jorge Luis Borges
Let them talk, let them talk,
let the crows flap their wings,
for what my eyes have seen
must not...
- Emilio Prados
A bee
staggers out
of the peony....
- Matsuo Basho
 Art -  Literature - Franck Mortelmans - Portrait of Alain Germoz
Franck Mortelmans - Portrait of Alain Germoz
February 6th 2013
Contributed by user for educational purposes only. User is not author.
Look at these old trees, more lovely these
Than younger trees, more friendly too by far:
More beau...
- Olavo Bilac
How heavy the days are.
There's not a fire that can warm me,
Not a sun to laugh with me,
- Hermann Hesse
That tree whose leaves are trembling
is yearning for something.

That tree so lovely to look at...
- Diego Hurtado de Mendoza
The older you get the stronger the wind gets - and it's always in your face....
- Pablo Picasso
I love the mournful shadow, the dozing light: light which dreams of the night. I love the shadow, tw...
- Antun Gustav Matos
So you rode from the range where your brothers “select,”

Through the ghostly grey bush in th...
- Henry Lawson
 Art -  Literature - Childe Hassam - A reading woman
Childe Hassam - A reading woman
October 28th 2012
Contributed by user for educational purposes only. User is not author.
The moon, alone,
Taunts me from the heavens
With memories of you;
Should you feel the same, then
- Saigyo Hoshi
I walk so often, late, along the streets,
Lower my gaze, and hurry, full of dread,
Suddenly, silen...
- Hermann Hesse
Color is the place where our brain and the universe meet....
- Paul Klee
Who says that all must vanish?
Who knows, perhaps the flight
of the bird you wound remains,
and p...
- Rainer Maria Rilke