The Troll Hunter
Otto Jespersen, Hans Morten Hansen, Tomas Alf Larsen, Johanna Morck, Knut Nærum, Robert Stoltenberg, Glenn Erland Tosterud
by Andre Ovredal from The Troll Hunter (2010)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Related quotes
Der rote Baron
Tomás Koutník, Tomás Ibl, Albert Franc, Matthias Schweighöfer, Maxim Mehmet
from Der rote Baron (2008)
Submitted by Santana
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Little Hans
Lead vocal: graham dye
Little hans, little hans, what do you see?
The worlds is full of big surprises
Little hans, little hans, what can they be?
They come in many shapes and sizes
Little boys always love to play
But something is not quite right
Little hans wont come out today
Hes scared of a horse that might bite
Little hans, little hans, what can it be?
Your thoughts are filled with such confusion
Little hans, little hans when will you see?
Youre barking up the wrong conclusion
Professor man asks him oh so nicely
Why will you not come out?
Little hans tells him most politely
What he is thinking about
A ride in a tram, a lily white lamb, raspberry jam
Little hans, little hans, where will you go?
The world is full of compromises
Little hans, little hans, how will you know?
The come in many strange disguises
Professor man shakes his head and wonders
How will he work it out?
Little hans tells him quite precisely
What hes been dreaming about
I jump in the bath, I make myself laugh, I ride a giraffe
Little hans, little hans, I found a clue
I think Ive made the right connection
Little hans, little hans, all I can do
Is give a common sense injection
Little boys grow up just like daddy
Professor man has no doubt
Little hans goes to sleep and wonders
What he was talking about
song performed by by Alan Parsons Project
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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3 Days to Kill
Amber Heard, Kevin Costner, Hailee Steinfeld, Connie Nielsen, Scott Burn, Richard Sammel, Tomas Lemarquis, Tómas Lemarquis
from 3 Days to Kill (2014)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part. 1. The Musician's Tale; The Saga of King Olaf VI. -- The Wraith Of Odin
The guests were loud, the ale was strong,
King Olaf feasted late and long;
The hoary Scalds together sang;
O'erhead the smoky rafters rang.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
The door swung wide, with creak and din;
A blast of cold night-air came in,
And on the threshold shivering stood
A one-eyed guest, with cloak and hood.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
The King exclaimed, 'O graybeard pale!
Come warm thee with this cup of ale.'
The foaming draught the old man quaffed,
The noisy guests looked on and laughed.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
Then spake the King: 'Be not afraid;
Sit here by me.' The guest obeyed,
And, seated at the table, told
Tales of the sea, and Sagas old.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
And ever, when the tale was o'er,
The King demanded yet one more;
Till Sigurd the Bishop smiling said,
''T is late, O King, and time for bed.'
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
The King retired; the stranger guest
Followed and entered with the rest;
The lights were out, the pages gone,
But still the garrulous guest spake on.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
As one who from a volume reads,
He spake of heroes and their deeds,
Of lands and cities he had seen,
And stormy gulfs that tossed between.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
Then from his lips in music rolled
The Havamal of Odin old,
With sounds mysterious as the roar
Of billows on a distant shore.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
'Do we not learn from runes and rhymes
Made by the gods in elder times,
And do not still the great Scalds teach
That silence better is than speech?'
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
Smiling at this, the King replied,
'Thy lore is by thy tongue belied;
For never was I so enthralled
Either by Saga-man or Scald,'
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
The Bishop said, 'Late hours we keep!
Night wanes, O King! 't is time for sleep!'
Then slept the King, and when he woke
The guest was gone, the morning broke.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
They found the doors securely barred,
They found the watch-dog in the yard,
There was no footprint in the grass,
And none had seen the stranger pass.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
King Olaf crossed himself and said:
'I know that Odin the Great is dead;
Sure is the triumph of our Faith,
The one-eyed stranger was his wraith.'
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Beautiful Prize
The father giveth, and the father taketh away
Johanna prays in her bed
He drinks his beer to the tv chatter
Thinks dark thoughts in his head
When the house that he keeps with his hard won pay
Is finally asleep after his brutal day
He turns his eyes on his beautiful prize
Johanna watches her door open just a crack
And a hand that once held her runs down the length of her back
Her fallen angel lies down on her bed
So much confusion in her beautiful head
Johanna closes her eyes
In a house full of secrets the truth doesnt matter
Johanna buries her shame and dreams of redemption
They just scatter, she grows numb to the pain
She cant remember how it was before
And she doesnt know who she is anymore
Shes in disguise as his beautiful prize
Johanna watches her life from the outside
And she dreams that one day shell fly free from this mess
Shes a hawk trying to soar with a broken wing
And she doesnt talk anymore about anything
She just closes her eyes
She just cant stand his anger, she just cant bear his heat
She takes a long hard look at life on the street, yeah
In a house full of secrets the truth doesnt matter
And any dreams of salvation, they just shatter
Johanna watches the world from the outside,
And she dreams of the day shell fly free from this mess
She doesnt know what shes waiting for
Cause theres nothing left in this house anymore
And in his eyes shes just a beautiful prize
Oh, johanna just a beautiful prize...
Yeah, johanna...
Oh, hanna...
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Death At Ones Elbow
Oh glenn
Dont come to the house tonight
Oh glenn
Oh glenn
Dont come to the house tonight
Oh glenn
Because theres somebody here
Who really really loves you
Oh glenn
Stay home
Be bored
(its crap, I know)
Tonight
Oh glenn
Oh glenn
Dont come to the house tonight
Oh glenn
Oh glenn
Dont come to the house tonight
Because theres somebody here
Wholl take a hatchet to your ear
The frustration it renders me
Hateful, oh ...
Oh, dont come to the house tonight
Oh, dont come to the house tonight
Because youll slip on the
Trail of all my sad remains
Thats why, thats why
Goodbye my love, goodbye my love
Goodbye my love, goodbye my love
Goodbye my love, goodbye my love
Belch
song performed by by Smiths
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ballad Of Tailor Nils
If you were born before yesterday,
Surely you've heard about Tailor Nils, who flaunts him so gay.
If it's more than a week that you've been here,
Surely you've heard how Knut Storedragen got a lesson severe.
Up on the barn of Ola-Per Kviste after a punchin':
"When Nils heaves you again, take with you some luncheon."
Hans Bugge, he was a man so renowned,
Haunting ghosts of his name spread alarm all around.
"Tailor Nils, where you wish to lie, now declare!
On that spot will I spit and lay your head right there."--
"Oh, just come up so near, that I know you by the scent!
Think not that by your jaw to earth I shall be bent!"
When first they met, 't was scarce a bout at all,
Neither man was ready yet to try to get a fall.
The second time Hans Bugge slipped his hold.
"Are you tired now, Hans Bugge? The dance will soon be bold."
The third time Hans fell headlong, and forth the blood did spurt.
"Why spit you now so much, man?" -- "Oh my, that fall did hurt!"--
Saw you a tree casting shadows on new-fallen snow?
Saw you Nils on a maiden smiling glances bestow?
Have you seen Tailor Nils when the dance he commences?
Are you a maiden, then go!--It's too late, when you've lost your senses.
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bearly a Cereal Killer
The killing fields,
not in Cambodia during the Kymar Rouge Regime,
Not in slaughter house five by Vonnegut,
But an animal that tended to have animal instincts,
appalling isn’t it?
The bear, who is bi-polar,
--no scratch that, single polar,
For the Antarctic continent lacks bears but is for the birds,
Knut, was cute, his diet, seafood he had to taste,
For awhile, but he began maliciously killing carp,
All the possible Gelfite Fish gone to waste.
Knut, the once-cute celebrity polar bear turned vicious killer, is at the center of a controversy over his brutal slaughter of ten carp at the Berlin Zoo. The massive polar bear, who has lived at the zoo since birth, apparently fished the carp out of the moat surrounding him and ripped them to shreds in front of several disgusted zoo patrons.
DE-DE-DE, you wonder if people know about nature.
Life is not orderly and cute,
such as especially Germans can attest to this,
From the chancellors and barons,
'There is speculation that hand-reared Knut killed the carp just for fun.' One German newspaper reported that Knut 'senselessly murdered the carp' before leaving their remains.
I find a paradox that so many were sickened at the thought of many carps being put down by a polar bears,
Yet not more than two generations has passed since millions were slaughtered, but no one knew or were following orders.
(4-13-2008)
poem by Joe Rosochacki
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hr. Mickel i Odense
Et fremmed Navn det hjelper strax,
Saa kjendes man af Flere,
Han var for os en dansk Hans Sachs,
Ja næstendeel lidt mere.
Hans Rosenkrands er nu lagt hen,
Men ægte Guldet er i den.
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fru Bournonville
Hvem Gud har kjær gav han Geniets Flamme,
I tusind Farver kvæger det vort Syn,
Men ham, som fik det, bittre Smerter ramme,
Han halvfortæres af sit Guddoms Lyn;
Tidt gaaer han ene — lyser, som en Kjerte,
Og lysende fortæres han som den,
Men elsker Gud ham, vil et trofast Hjerte
Sig slutte til ham, kalde ham sin Ven.
En Skytsaand følger ham, en ædel Qvinde,
Hun styrker ham paa Stridens tunge Dag,
Hans Sorg hun lukker i sit Hjerte inde,
Og mere kraftigt er hans Vingeslag.
Du er en saadan Skytsaand god og stærk,
Hans Navn, hans Lykke, blev dit Hjertes Værk.
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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R. Frankenau
Glemt staaer hans Grav bag Kloster-Kirkens Muur,
Endt er hans Drøm om Glæde og om Smerte;
Han var en Digter-Blomst i Guds Natur,
Hvis friske Duft har qvæget mangt et Hjerte.
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Med Freiligraths Digte
Ved Islands Geyser staaer hans Sommertelt,
Han rider paa den afrikanske Løve,
Han, Poesiens unge, tydske Helt,
Med ham det nok er værdt en Dyst at prøve;
Han har en riig Provinds i Kunstens Stat.
Her kommer han, — hans Navn er Freiligrath.
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Grev Joachim Moltke-Bregentved
Tænk kun paa ham hvis Støv er Graven bragt,
Erindring, udfold heel din Blomsterpragt!
Et Smiil sad i hans Øie, om hans Mund,
Det lyste fra den rene Hjerte-Bund.
Husk Julens Glæder, naar han spøgte glad;
Saa rigt og stort er Hjertets Mindeblad.
Hos Eder lykkelig og glad han stod,
For Danmarks Sag, han Hjemmets Hjem forlod.
Den vaade Jord og Nattens kolde Vind,
Skjød Dødens Kugle i hans Hjerte ind.
Sit unge Liv han glad for Danmark gav.
De Runer vil' vi riste paa hans Grav!
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Leapin' Lizards or How to Get the Most Out Your Geico (so easy a caveman can do it)
Hans Kurt Kubus,58, had a 'thing' for lizards.
This German knows his insurance policies,
- and he is no Neanderthal man who likes gizzards.
Kubus, No, not the video game cubis, attached 44 lizards to his body,
He attempted to smuggle them out of New Zealand, Scott free.
Hans had the geckos and skinks within his underwear,
I don't why men put things in there underwear,
I cannot believe they don't care.
Hans did not attempt to light his britches on fire.
As the Muslim terrorist tried to do as he and others flew to Detroit,
The situation was, at the time, dire.
But Hans was caught, he was not as smart as a caveman,
A caveman in New Zealend.
Hans was arrested and sentenced to two weeks in prison and fined $3,450
-before he was deported back to Germany.
Hans Kurt Kubus might try an asp or viper next time around,
-he will probably take pass.
Hans Kurt Kubus is not as smart as New Zealand caveman, -he is a real dumb a$$.
1-31-10
poem by Joe Rosochacki
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Med en Hund
Her er en Hund, og den er stor,
En Hund var hans Faer, en Hund hans Moer.
See, hvor han gloer!
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Christian Wulff
Den vide Verden Faae kun nævne kan,
Der var opoffrende og god, som han;
Den skjønne Guds Natur han havde kjær,
Og paa hans Bryst faldt Dødens Draabe der;
Een Smerte kun ham fyldte, stor og heel,
Forladt og i en anden Verdens Deel
Sin stakkels syge Søster han forlod.
Et Suk — hans Hjerte brast — hos Gud han stod.
Det danske Flag man ham om Kisten gav,
Hans Kjærlighed ham fulgte i hans Grav;
Et Egetræ strøer gyldent Løv paa den;
Sov sødt, sov vel, Du tro, Du kjære Ven!
Flyv lille Svale, Vindens Vei derhen,
Bring Hilsen ham, som kommer ei igjen,
Hvis blaa og milde Øine vi først see
Der, hvor ei meer er Død og Hjertevee!
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Glenn Gould was my hero. Glenn Gould was my idol. I loved him.
quote by Warren Zevon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I have gone to the forest.
quote by Knut Hamsun
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Just Like Birds
Little johanna girl of my prairie
Help me fill this house with living words
Further up an further in
Let em fly from our lips
Just like birds
Just like birds
All that dark woods from pakistan
The glory the glory lodged inside
Strive to enter the narrow gate child
To the fountain that flows deep an wide
He will never leave you
My much afraid
He waits patient
In our prayers unprayed
Now stay close to me
In an amongst the trees
Ill carry your shoes child
You run an play beneath the eaves
Our faith will come by the hearin
A whisper in the leaves
Listen johanna hear his voice
In the drone of the bees
He will never leave you
My much afraid
He waits patient
In our prayers unprayed
song performed by by 16 Horsepower
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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De fattige Børn paa Gaden
Barn Jesus i en Krybbe laae,
Skjøndt Himlen var hans Eie;
Hans Pude her blev Hø og Straa,
Mørk var det om hans Leie!
Men Stjernen over Huset stod,
Og Oxen kyssed' Barnets Fod,
Halleluja, Barn Jesus!
Hver sorgfuld Sjæl, bliv karsk og glad,
Ryst af din tunge Smerte,
Et Barn er født i Davids Stad,
Til Trøst for hvert et Hjerte;
Til Barnet vil vi stige ind,
Og blive Børn i Sjæl og Sind.
Halleluja, Barn Jesus!
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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