Literature

I like that you are crazy not with me,
I like that I’m not with you crazy, either,
That ne’er ...
- Marina Tsvetaeva
The youth walks up to the white horse, to put its halter on
and the horse looks at him in silence.
...
- D. H. Lawrence
That mirror
Which makes of men a transparency,
Who holds that mirror
And bids us such a breast...
- Thomas Hardy
 Art -  Literature - René Magritte - Self portrait
René Magritte - Self portrait
Posted:
August 16th 2012
Member:
 
Contributed by user for educational purposes only. User is not author.
 Art -  Literature - Andre Breton - Self portrait
Andre Breton - Self portrait
Posted:
August 6th 2012
Member:
 
Contributed by user for educational purposes only. User is not author.
Mirrors are not more silent
nor the creeping dawn more secretive;
in the moonlight, you are that p...
- Jorge Luis Borges
My eyes already touch the sunny hill.
going far beyond the road I have begun,
So we are grasped by...
- Rainer Maria Rilke
Lightly forsaking
The spring mist as it rises,
The wild geese are setting off.
Have they learned ...
- Lady Ise
Below Mirabeau Bridge flows River Seine
Just like our loves.
Must one recall it to my mind that ...
- Guillaume Apollinaire
Winds of May, that dance on the sea,
Dancing a ring-around in glee
From furrow to furrow, while ...
- James Joyce
That pretty girl--
munching and rustling
the wrapped-up rice cake....
- Kobayashi Issa
From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the ...
- William Shakespeare
Love is too young to know what conscience is;
Yet who knows not conscience is born of love?
Then, ...
- William Shakespeare
We are a liars, because
the truth of yesterday becomes a lie tomorrow,
whereas letters are fixed,
...
- D. H. Lawrence
My child, I dare not, over you,
To start the blessing’s simple citation.
You’re – with your ...
- Alexander Pushkin
Kill off mankind,
And give the Earth a chance!
Nature might find
In her inheritance
The seedling...
- Aleister Crowley
Slow in the dawn, a young man, hollow-eyed
from lengthy thought and unrewarding vigils,
is lost in...
- Jorge Luis Borges
Press my breasts,
Part the veil of mystery,
A flower blooms there,
Crimson and fragrant....
- Akiko Yosano