Jaques: All the world‘s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse‘s arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress‘ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon‘s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper‘d pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
line from As You Like It, Act II, Scene 7 by William Shakespeare (1599)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Related quotes
All the World's a Stage
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
poem by William Shakespeare
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Minitel after William Shakespeare Jacques Seven Ages of Man
All their world's a page,
and all the players minitel-mad players,
they have their résumés, their pseudonyms,
each actor for a time plays many parts,
his acts taking seven stages. At first equipment,
fresh ordered from the Poste, in welcome arms.
And then the neophyte with his instructions
and wide-eyed eager face, tapping the code
so willingly to screen. And then the practice,
with SUITE, ENVOI, RETOUR and REPETITION
colliding in his brain with mistress' eyebrow,
the fantasies and fictions of the game.
Then the user, sudden and quick to answer;
seeking ever new experience
even in deception's mouth. And then the addict
dialling sans respite 3-6-1-5.
With weary eyes ere telephones are cut,
full of wise ways and easy answerings.
And so he plays his part. The sixth stage shifts
into the bored and blasé demi-loon,
with carnet for his prose, spare telephone at side,
his coins once saved a-waste, the world too wide
for his shrunk purse, and his high manly hopes
turned against his longings, imagination
canting, all at sea. Last stage of all
that ends this strange eventful history
is deconnection and mere oblivion,
sans phone, sans sous, sans job, sans everything.
(1 June 1987)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Online As You Like It after William Shakespeare Jacques Seven Ages of Man
All their world's a page,
and all the players Internet addicted,
they have their resumés, their pseudonyms,
each actor for a time plays many parts,
his acts taking seven stages. At first computer,
with WINDOWS bugs well hid in viral links.
And then the neophyte's instruction manual,
and wide-eyed eager face, googling some site
so willingly to screen. Then follows practice,
with MAIL, TRASH, SPAM and FORWARD, shortcuts everywhere,
colliding in his brain with mistress' eyebrow,
the fantasies and fictions of the game
tied to an IP number's trace race chase.
Then the user, sudden and quick to answer;
seeking ever new experience
even in deception's mouth. And then the addict
rejoicing in his bandwidth always on,
weary eyed a-seeking Second Life,
or You Tube, Facebook, Meetic dating quest,
full of wise ways and easy answerings,
heedless of phishing, firewall disrepair,
and so he plays his part. The sixth stage shifts
into the bored and blasé demi-loon,
with carnet for his prose, and instant message rote,
whose self assessments leave what friends remain
at sea when he some siren seeks to trap,
attention span a-waste, webworld too wide
for his shrunk purse, and his high manly hopes
betrayed by longings, dreams and discontent,
discretion all awry.
Last stage of all that ends this strange eventful history
is deconnection and mere oblivion,
where online search can't google happiness,
CONTROL ALT SUP still failing to reboot,
sans screen, sans time, sans reason, rhyme, sans everything.
(22 February 2009)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Seven Ages of Wise
Parliament's a stage,
And all the Politicians merely players!
They have their exits and entrances,
And Wise doth in his time play many parts,
His acts being seven changes.
First the Runner,
With spiked shoe he spurns the cinder track,
And just for once runs straight.
The next the Student,
Burning the midnight oil with Adam Smith
For Cobden Medals.
Next the youthful member,
With shining morning face, creeping between
Two seasoned leaders into place and power
Before his whiskers grow.
The next the bravo.
Jealous of greater men, he cries, "Ha, Ha!
Beware Bernardo's dagger!" -- and would strike
His friend i' th' back.
Then come a sudden change.
Once more a child, he comes with quick-turned coat,
New friends, new doctrines, and new principles,
Lets Friedman loose, and wrecks the Government.
Then leads the horny-handed sons of toil
By many a specious promise to their doom
In Arbitration Courts.
Last scene of all,
That ends this strange, disastrous history.
He aims at Judgeships and Commissionerships,
But, failing, passes on to mere oblivion.
Sans place, sans power, sans pay, sans everything.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Eyes Without A Face
I'm all out of hope. One more bad break could bring a fall.
When I'm far from home don't call me on the phone to tell me you're alone
It's easy to deceive. It's easy to tease. But hard to get release.
(Les yeux sans visage) Eyes without a face.
(Les yeux sans visage) Eyes without a face.
(Les yeux sans visage) Eyes without a face.
Got no human grace your eyes without a face.
I spend so much time believing all the lies to keep the dream alive.
Now it makes me sad. It makes me mad at truth for lovin' what was you.
(Les yeux sans visage) Eyes without a face.
(Les yeux sans visage) Eyes without a face.
(Les yeux sans visage) Your eyes without a face.
Got no human grace your eyes without a face.
(Les yeux sans visage) Eyes without a face.
(Les yeux sans visage) Eyes without a face.
(Les yeux sans visage) Your eyes without a face.
Got no human grace your eyes without a face.
Such a human waste your eyes without a face.
And now it's getting worse. Yeah.
song performed by by Scooter from Encore (Live & Direct)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Satan and God
Sans sound, silence is not there.
Sans darkness, light is not there
Sans man, woman has no value.
Sans Satan, the God has no role.
24.12.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Eyes Without A Face
Im all out of hope
One more bad dream could bring a fall
When Im far from home
Dont call me on the phone
To tell me youre alone
Its easy to deceive
Its easy to tease
But hard to get release
Les yeux sans visage eyes without a face
Les yeux sans visage eyes without a face
Les yeux sans visage eyes without a face
Got no human grace your eyes without a face.
I spend so much time
Believing all the lies
To keep the dream alive
Now it makes me sad
It makes me mad at truth
For loving what was you
Les yeux sans visage eyes without a face
Les yeux sans visage eyes without a face
Les yeux sans visage eyes without a face
Got no human grace your eyes without a face.
When you hear the music you make a dip
Into someone elses pocket then make a slip.
Steal a car and go to las vegas oh, the gigolo pool.
Hanging out by the state line,
Turning holy water into wine
Drinkin it down
Im on a bus on a psychedelic trip
Reading murder books tryin to stay hip.
Im thinkin of you youre out there so
Say your prayers.
Say your prayers.
Say your prayers.
Now I close my eyes
And I wonder why
I dont despise
Now all I can do
Is love what was once
So alive and new
But its gone from your eyes
Id better realise
Les yeux sans visage eyes without a face
Les yeux sans visage eyes without a face
Les yeux sans visage eyes without a face
Got no human grace your eyes without a face.
Such a human waste your eyes without a face
And now its getting worse.
song performed by by Billy Idol
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Soldier
Once upon a time a Soldier,
Reside in the Perm Moldier;
All creatures beloved his bravery,
And praise him for his bravery.
Jealous is he in honour and seek reputation,
Full of strange oaths and quick pride;
Gorgeous is he in nature, full of agitation,
Fearless even in front of canon's slide.
Want to prove himself, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Does everything in name of his and his country honour,
Can't tolerate anyone treating nation lowel,
Stain everything with his blood who behave in this manner.
Sudden war starts with another nation,
He fought bravely in war,
Kills many of sepoy of another nation,
Lambastic like fire on them in war.
Fought till last shell and breathe remain,
And died the death of Martyr.
Tears floats in every mother's and sister's eyes,
Ah! He was such Marvellous guy.
poem by Indrajeet Mishra
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The Unusual Cradle Of Fun
'school is fun', seemed
weird coming out of a
4th grader.
ask why and you'll have
it crisp, 'i have friends
and teachers are game'.
she reaches 8 grade and
fights over petty issues
then her friends come up
and provide her, with tissues.
think, this is cool?
but now thats the end
friends leave school
and she is left alone
they changed her class
they altered her interest
the one who cut classes
, now sat in those rooms
sans friends, sans fun
sans company, sans everything
from fun and learn,
it changed to bore and learn
inspiration is worth nothing
family gave her something,
probably the last hope to survive,
to learn and adjust;
now fun was only family;
'school is not fun', now seemed
weird coming out of a 10th grader.
poem by Taanya Khanna
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Rencontre
Passant mêle à ta vie l'orgueil et la bonté
Surmonte l'ennemi et bois à sa santé
Honore ton outil sans le laisser inerte
Brise-le par amour au moment de ta perte
Et méprise ceci Jouir sans en pleurer
La vigne sans ivresse et le champ sans ivraie
poem by Guillaume Apollinaire
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Sonnet- Things Change In Life
The more we climb, the more we leave behind;
To gain virtues, we must give up vices;
Each stage, we must maintain our peace of mind;
Good deeds, more temptations sure entices.
The more we climb, the fear of fall is more;
So, reinforce yourself at every stage;
Effort is more to open heavier door;
Sometimes, life's challenges, we must engage.
Sans sacrifice, great feats can't be achieved;
Sans risks and challenges, we can't do things;
Sans analgesics, pain can't be relieved;
Sans struggle, Life not much advancement brings.
The state of mind must change from woe to joy;
We ought to change some day to man from boy.
poem by John Celes
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Ive Seen That Face Before / Libertango
Strange, Ive seen that face before,
Seen him hanging round my door,
Like a hawk stealing for the pray,
Like the night waiting for the day,
Strange, he shadows me back home,
Footsteps echo on the stones,
Rainy nights, an hustling boulevard,
Parisian music, drifting from the bars,
Tu cherches quoi, rencontrer la mort,
Tu te prends pour qui, toi aussi tu detestes la vie,
Dance in bars and restaurants,
Home with anyone who wants,
Strange hes standing there alone,
Staring eyes chill me to the bone.
Dans sa chambre, joel et sa valise,
Un regard sur ses fringues,
Sur les murs, des photos,
Sans regret, sans mlo,
La porte est claque, joel est barr.
song performed by by Grace Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Real freedom
Franchise freedom sans political freedom,
Political freedom sans societal freedom,
Societal freedom sans economic freedom.
Economic freedom sans marital freedom,
Marital freedom sans sexual freedom
Is no freedom you grant women.
24.01.2002, Pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Report Of An Adjudged Case
Between Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose,
The spectacles set them unhappily wrong;
The point in dispute was, as all the world knows,
To which the said spectacles ought to belong.
So the Tongue was the Lawyer and argued the cause
With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of learning,
While chief baron Ear sat to balance the laws,
So famed for his talent in nicely discerning.
In behalf of the Nose, it will quickly appear,
And your lordship, he said, will undoubtedly find,
That the Nose has had spectacles always in wear,
Which amounts to possession time out of mind.
Then holding the spectacles up to the court, -
Your lordship observes they are made with a straddle,
As wide as the ridge of the Nose is, in short,
Designed to sit close to it, just like a saddle.
Again, would your lordship a moment suppose
('Tis a case that has happened and may be again),
That the visage or countenance had not a Nose,
Pray who would or who could wear spectacles then?
On the whole it appears, and my argument shows
With a reasoning the court will never condemn,
That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose,
And the Nose was as plainly intended for them.
Then shifting his side, as a lawyer knows how,
He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes,
But what were his arguments few people know,
For the court did not think they were equally wise.
So his lordship decreed, with a grave solemn tone,
Decisive and clear, without on if or but, -
That whenever the Nose put his spectacles on,
By daylight or candlelight - Eyes should be shut.
poem by William Cowper
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Painful Effect Of Your Love
Thoughts of daydream, Swear of love,
With you, wrecked heart like sharp thorn,
And mesmerizing reminiscence of that strolling
Made heart like quarry and impell it to moun.
And memories of your sensual grin,
At my silliness and that roaming,
On that 'diluge full' eve'
Grimaced ma' heart, and
That droplets proves stingful tears now.
Shall you move ahead;
A corner in your heart,
Always missed a sensitive carer,
And felt that loneliness that can never be filled.
And not this only wreak me,
It also let your whole life
Sans happiness, sans love, sans Sweet Sweetheart.
poem by Indrajeet Mishra
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Suffocated
Millie Allstruck suffocated
Her daughter. Millie held
The cushion down. Saw her
Daughter’s arms flap like
Some bird in a trap. Millie
Held her breath for as long
As she could, until the arms
Stopped flapping, until her
Bird was dead. She stood
There holding the cushion
In place waiting for sounds,
Any motion. Millie removed
The cushion, stood gaping,
Holding the cushion, breathing
In deep. Her daughter lay there
Staring into space, a sense of
Peace on her three year old face.
Millie had pushed out the cancer,
Put out the fire. She had her
Daughter back sans pains, sans
The creeping disease, sans
The long nights. She put down
The cushion, placed her daughter’s
Arms across her small chest, closed
The eyes, brushed the hair, thin
And fair. Millie Allstruck stood
And watched and saw sunlight
Touch her daughter’s head as if
The finger of God had touched
And took away. Better to have
Loved and lost than not loved at all,
Millie heard her mother once say.
poem by Terry Collett
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Only Leaves!
Will there be fruits without flowers?
Will there be flowers without leaves?
But in my garden only leaves grow
Without flowers and fruits ever!
Selfish growth will mar healthy society!
It will be like westward rush for gold
Where everyone fights with gun to kill
One another along with joy and fun ever!
Competition sans cooperation kills joy!
Animal lust cannot sustain divine love
Making joy bloom as flowers in garden
To make joy rule life forever in bliss!
Life sans good company as desert sans oasis is
Stock piling of wealth sans none to share joy!
poem by Ramesh T A
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Pigalle II - 0050 - Current French Version
Oui, je suis
chaque nuit
sous la pluie
sans ami,
sans abri
sans sous - si!
Qui sourit
contredit
cœur, esprit,
de la vie,
se détruit
se salit.
Viens chéri!
Viens ici!
Allons-y?
Qui jouit?
Vers minuit
ça suffit!
Si on suit
vers délit
c'est au lit
vers aussi,
vite on vit
des soucis.
Pauvre fille,
vivre ainsi
à Paris
si pourri:
mais, tant pis,
sans repenti
c'est reparti!
(25 October 2006)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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L'amour maternel
Fait d'héroïsme et de clémence,
Présent toujours au moindre appel,
Qui de nous peut dire où commence,
Où finit l'amour maternel ?
Il n'attend pas qu'on le mérite,
Il plane en deuil sur les ingrats ;
Lorsque le père déshérite,
La mère laisse ouverts ses bras ;
Son crédule dévoûment reste
Quand les plus vrais nous ont menti,
Si téméraire et si modeste
Qu'il s'ignore et n'est pas senti.
Pour nous suivre il monte ou s'abîme,
A nos revers toujours égal,
Ou si profond ou si sublime
Que, sans maître, il est sans rival :
Est-il de retraite plus douce
Qu'un sein de mère, et quel abri
Recueille avec moins de secousse
Un coeur fragile endolori ?
Quel est l'ami qui sans colère
Se voit pour d'autres négligé ?
Qu'on méconnaît sans lui déplaire,
Si bon qu'il n'en soit affligé ?
Quel ami dans un précipice
Nous joint sans espoir de retour,
Et ne sent quelque sacrifice
Où la mère ne sent qu'amour ?
Lequel n'espère un avantage
Des échanges de l'amitié ?
Que de fois la mère partage
Et ne garde pas sa moitié !
Ô mère, unique Danaïde
Dont le zèle soit sans déclin,
Et qui, sans maudire le vide,
Y penche un grand coeur toujours plein !
poem by Rene Francois Armand Prudhomme
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A Soldier's Sense of Love!
Life sans love is hell........ indeed;
But love is painful pleasure........!
Taking pain love gives pleasure;
For this pleasure all forget all pain!
Life sans friends is a long desert!
Friends are oases in world life;
They are umbrella against rain!
Friendship is another form of love!
Sense of justice is mark of a soldier;
Soldier treats enemies as friends
After war everyday at line of control!
Soldier's mercy is too human love!
Both in love and war nothing is fair or foul;
But brave soldier shows mercy to weak
Even in war as a mark of human love....!
Mark of brave soldier is sense of human love!
poem by Ramesh T A
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