I think the kind of unexpected I really love is when you open books and the actual way of writing is different and interesting. Like reading Virginia Woolf for the first time or Lawrence Durrell for the first time.
quote by Lalla Ward
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Books
Books are my first love, I’m so proud to read;
They give me knowledge and help life to lead;
Hours, days just pass by, by reading life-time;
Life would not be worth, if not for my rhyme.
Great are those people who write books all life;
Burning just candles, with Goose-quills in strife;
Tired of writing though day-long or night,
They keep on writing in such a bad light.
Books serve a great cause; their value can’t cease;
It takes years to write but reading is ease;
Book-makers struggle to print a few books;
And keep spending time to, improve their looks.
Some find their way to libraries in town;
Some remain untouched and nev’r taken down;
Silver-fish, Moths eat the books that are old;
Some are gone obsolete, some sold like gold.
Some are in tatters and must be rebound;
Books are Man’s best friends where solace is found;
Reading for long hours, does help you to learn;
Books give much knowledge and wisdom to men.
Read books with great care whose weight is in gold;
Serve generations though they may be old;
Source of much Info, deserving respect;
Books are life-partners whom you ne’er reject!
poem by John Celes
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Nothing induces me to read a novel except when I have to make money by writing about it. I detest them.
quote by Virginia Woolf
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This is not writing at all. Indeed, I could say that Shakespeare surpasses literature altogether, if I knew what I meant.
quote by Virginia Woolf
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The history of men's opposition to women's emancipation is more interesting perhaps than the story of that emancipation itself.
quote by Virginia Woolf
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Why are women... so much more interesting to men than men are to women?
quote by Virginia Woolf
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With An Adventuring To Do To Explore More
Did I think,
One day you'd be reading me?
No!
Not this way.
But Reading you,
And the things people did and do.
I've always done.
Using a pad and pen.
To diescribe situations,
I'd find myself in.
Today who reads what I say,
Or believes what I express.
Depicts me best.
May or may not be true at the time.
Since my mind finds topic to explore.
And when I've completed my interest.
I leave that behind to open another door.
With an adventuring to do to explore more.
Is what I use my writing for.
To expose 'my' heart on my sleeve to me is a bore.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Virginia Woolf
Virginia Woolf was howling at the moon,
But the stars above her were singing a different tune,
Her books were magic
But her death was tragic,
The Thames was ready to eat her far too soon!
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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I want the concentration and the romance, and the worlds all glued together, fused, glowing: have no time to waste any more on prose.
quote by Virginia Woolf
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Always, it is poetry time
Life is filled with work to do,
Always there is, with me,
Poetry time, an escape, like you
Were so tirelessly breathing
And then
Take a cat’s nap, in a corner
Of your mind on a frame hung
On the solid wall,
Always it is poetry time with me,
Otherwise, life is nothing but
One that is hammered with work to do,
Feeling like a funeral, like a murder scene,
& Without,
Poetry time, there is just a lonely face,
Reading and writing books and books
And serious looks in crazy nooks,
And where can smile be? Tell me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The richest love is that which submits to the arbitration of time.
quote by Lawrence George Durrell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For what Harley Street specialist has time to understand the body, let alone the mind or both in combination, when he is a slave to thirteen thousand a year?
quote by Virginia Woolf
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It Had to Come to Us This Way
It had to come to us this way.
Unexpected love.
It had to find us unprepared.
Unexpected love.
We did not know it had us picked.
When unexpected love,
Came to visit.
It had to come to us this way.
Unexpected love.
It had to find us unprepared.
Willing to accept,
How it crept upon us.
When all we felt was tried.
Staring in clear skies,
Sometimes for that 'one'.
That someone special to us to come.
And when it is done...
We become stunned.
It is familiar.
As if it begins where it 'had' begun!
It had to come to us this way.
Unexpected love.
Expecting it returned.
As it is to feed what is yearned.
Connecting two hearts burning!
When all we felt was tried,
Unexpected love...
Comes out of hiding!
It had to come to us this way.
If it had not...
We would find reasons,
To chase it away!
And that is why,
It had to come to us
This way...
Finding us in a receptive display,
And giving without thought to run.
Hoping love like this did come,
To stay!
It had to come to us this way,
Unexpected love...
Seldom drifts or fades!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I started writing while I was a little boy. Maybe it's because I was reading a lot of books I admired, and thought that I would like to write something like that someday. Also, my love for good writing pushed me.
quote by Naguib Mahfouz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unfit Books
on table
on the room...
some books
with out reading...
but open
un fit
some books close
finish the reading...
with fit...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.
quote by Virginia Woolf
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dear Colette
Dear Colette,
I want to write to you
about being a woman
for that is what you write to me.
I want to tell you how your face
enduring after thirty, forty, fifty. . .
hangs above my desk
like my own muse.
I want to tell you how your hands
reach out from your books
& seize my heart.
I want to tell you how your hair
electrifies my thoughts
like my own halo.
I want to tell you how your eyes
penetrate my fear
& make it melt.
I want to tell you
simply that I love you--
though you are "dead"
& I am still "alive."
Suicides & spinsters--
all our kind!
Even decorous Jane Austen
never marrying,
& Sappho leaping,
& Sylvia in the oven,
& Anna Wickham, Tsvetaeva, Sara Teasdale,
& pale Virginia floating like Ophelia,
& Emily alone, alone, alone. . . .
But you endure & marry,
go on writing,
lose a husband, gain a husband,
go on writing,
sing & tap dance
& you go on writing,
have a child & still
you go on writing,
love a woman, love a man
& go on writing.
You endure your writing
& your life.
Dear Colette,
I only want to thank you:
for your eyes ringed
with bluest paint like bruises,
for your hair gathering sparks
like brush fire,
for your hands which never willingly
let go,
for your years, your child, your lovers,
all your books. . . .
Dear Colette,
you hold me
to this life.
poem by Erica Jong
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Who Knows Where Time Goes
Time is something we don't understand,
It's gone with a hello and a shake of the hand.
Never enough time for those you hold dear
But always, time for sadness and tears.
Time, you can't se it at all
For it passes so quickly --- while you lean on a wall.
Who knows where time goes/
No time for the dreams you have for yourself
Nor time for reading all the books the shelf.
Not enough time to go drifting along
For one has to work eight hours long.
Who knows where time goes?
No time to laugh --- and just be alone,
No time at all for friend or foe.
Time is running out --- people all say,
Who knows where time goes --- each and every day!
poem by Dorothy Fern Fowler
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I can only note that the past is beautiful because one never realises an emotion at the time. It expands later, and thus we don't have complete emotions about the present, only about the past.
quote by Virginia Woolf
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The appalling thing is the degree of charity women are capable of. You see it all the time... love lavished on absolute fools. Love's a charity ward, you know.
quote by Lawrence Durrell
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This is mainly because I spend a lot of time writing and so don't have much time to read; I hate to waste that time reading what may turn out to be junk food for the mind, when there's so much real writing to be read.
quote by John Sladek
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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