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=538794" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Blues</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">What did I think, a storm clutching a clarinet<br>and boarding a downtown bus, headed for lessons?<br>I had pieces to learn by heart, but at twelve</div><div style="margin:10px 0">you think the heart and memory are different.<br>&quot;'It's a poor sort of memory that only works<br>backwards,' the Queen remarked.&quot; Alice in Wonderland.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Although I knew the way music can fill a room,<br>even with loneliness, which is of course a kind<br>of company. I could swelter through an August</div><div style="margin:10px 0">afternoon -- torpor rising from the river -- and listen<br>to Stan Getz and J. J. Johnson braid variations<br>on &quot;My Funny Valentine&quot; and feel there in the room</div><div style="margin:10px 0">with me the force and weight of what I couldn't<br>say. What's an emotion anyhow?<br>Lassitude and sweat lay all about me</div><div style="margin:10px 0">like a stubble field, it was so hot and listless,<br>but I was quick and furtive as a fox<br>who has his thirty-miles-a-day metabolism</div><div style="margin:10px 0">to burn off as ordinary business.<br>I had about me, after all, the bare eloquence<br>of the becalmed, the plain speech of the leafless</div><div style="margin:10px 0">tree. I had the cunning of my body and a few<br>bars -- they were enough -- of music. Looking back,<br>it almost seems as though I could remember --</div><div style="margin:10px 0">but this can't be; how could I bear it? --<br>the future toward which I'd clatter<br>with that boy tied like a bell around my throat,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">a brave man and a coward both,<br>to break and break my metronomic heart<br>and just enough to learn to love the blues.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Anonymous submission.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Matthews">William Matthews</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=538794" data-title="The Blues de William Matthews" data-description="What did I think, a storm clutching a clarinet
and boarding a downtown bus, headed for lessons?
I had pieces to learn by heart, but at twelve

you think the heart and memory are different.
&quot;'It's a poor sort of memory that only works
backward..."></div>
</div>
</div>