Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=447086" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Landscapes</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The ridges either side of the valley<br>were covered in dark pine forest.<br>The ploughed hill sides were red,<br>and the pastures were very green.<br>Constable’s landscape entitled “Weymouth”<br>is always in my mind at such times;<br>my memory of this small part of the<br>National Gallery surprises even me,<br>and maybe only I know how inevitable it all is.<br>The horsemen are riding through the forest<br>and at dusk they will halt on its edge<br>and then, after checking their instructions, ride carefully<br>down into the valley – delicately picking their way<br>through the small wood and fording the shallow river.<br>From then on it is not very far<br>to their destination. We both know this.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Somehow the action has at last gone beyond<br>the painting and this is for real.<br>But there can be no self-flattery on this account<br>– it has all been decided for us.<br>The illusions of freedom are at last<br>shown to be so obviously ridiculous that<br>most people cry at this point.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What it left is a canvas and paints<br>and a little time for distraction before the event.<br>It is not so much a justification – but saying<br>“Goodbye” now appears irrelevant.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All the lists and secret worlds have now been<br>exposed – there is little left to say.<br>“I did care, and the love I claimed<br>was and still is the miracle that continues<br>to astonish me. I love you.<br>It is only that death has forced<br>me into obeying its commands.<br>I am powerless and in its power.”<br>And that’s a personal statement and as true<br>I and honest as I can force the words to be.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The saddles creak and it’s almost dusk.<br>It doesn’t really matter whether this is<br>the real or a symbol – the end’s the same.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Lee+Harwood">Lee Harwood</a><div class=q>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=447086" data-title="Landscapes de Lee Harwood" data-description="The ridges either side of the valley
were covered in dark pine forest.
The ploughed hill sides were red,
and the pastures were very green.
Constable’s landscape entitled “Weymouth”
is always in my mind at such times;
my memory of this small ..."></div>
</div>
</div>