I'm a biographer; I can live with a little hyperbole.
quote by Ron Chernow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
To the biographer all lives bar none are dramatic constructions.
quote by Katharine Anthony
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The enthusiasm of a woman's love is even beyond the biographer's.
quote by Jane Austen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hyperbole is something I'd better avoid.
quote by Terry Gilliam
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My biographer said that my parties reminded them of a vicarage tea party, with sex thrown in.
quote by Cynthia Payne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I think writers are prone to hyperbole sometimes.
quote by John Legend
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Linda Tripp has shown that a true friend is an archivist, a biographer.
quote by Mary Schmich
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Myth and reality
He sits on a hill
Below life choses to be
His cruel biographer
About the sad giraffe he says
There is no such animal
poem by Ngaka Motaung
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Hyperbole was to Lyndon Johnson what oxygen is to life.
quote by Bill Moyers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Reviewers are usually people who would have been, poets, historians, biographer, if they could. They have tried their talents at one thing or another and have failed; therefore they turn critic.
quote by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Is the president purposefully using propaganda and hyperbole to garner the American public for support?
quote by Sean Hannity
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The biographer who writes the life of his subject's self-concept passes through a fade into the inner house of life.
Any biographer must of necessity become a pilgrim a peripatetic, obsessed literary pilgrim, a traveler with four eyes.
The extravaganza
Hyperbole is an extravagant exaggeration,
Without which no poem merits,
By which the poet vent out his thirst
And from which the reader meet his.
01.05.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Life is an Allusion
Life is an allusion.
She’s a wicked witch. He’s a nasty Grinch.
We can’t be placed into a genre.
We’re as unchanging as the seasons.
A basic simile.
The inference that we all make on a daily basis is not intelligent at all.
Completely different.
Everything we do is somehow a complete satire.
The opposite; almost like irony which we’re surrounded by everyday.
An incoherent, figurative language is spoken,
We never know what to say or do.
Is it literal or not.
Life is alliteration in the making.
Anxiously awaiting another annihilation announcing another abomination.
Life is assonance going on and on.
Slowly suppressing something sliding sullenly, sickeningly into our hearts.
The metaphors by which we live are incredulous.
She is the light in my sky.
He is the heart inside of me.
The idioms are even more surprising.
Jump off a bridge.
Take your bow.
But how we live by the hyperbole “Life is a never ending chess game”
Is the only thing that makes sense
poem by Vanessa Kingsley
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Almost any biographer, if he respects facts, can give us much more than another fact to add to our collection. He can give us the creative fact; the fertile fact; the fact that suggests and engenders.
quote by Virginia Woolf
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Live
Clear out your mind
Look to your past and see what you can find
Stole soul afraid
Of the prophets perfect picture falls away
Is this the life that we choose to live
Or is this the life that has been giving
Now is the time to see what my life should be
What is mine!?
We live in Shangri La now!
We live in!
We live in!
We live in Shangri La now
We live in!
We live in!
It's a timeless rage
For many people praying to be saved
Truth is so strong
It needs lights to guide it so it can carry on
I've seen blood on my hands
Am I dead or is this where it begins
I feel the shame
For my friend who put a bullet in his brain!
We live in Shangri La now!
We live in!
We live in!
We live in Shangri La now
We live in!
We live in!
I've got
You've got
We've got
Something to die for
I've got
You've got
We've got
Something to die for
I've got
You've got
We've got
Something to die for
I've got
You've got
We've got
Something to die for
We live in Shangri La now!
We live in!
We live in!
We live in Shangri La now
We live in!
We live in!
We live in Shangri La now!
We live in!
We live in!
We live in Shangri La now
We live in!
We live in!
We live in Shangri La now!
We live in!
We live in!
We live in Shangri La now
We live in!
We live in!
We live in Shangri La now!
We live in!
We live in!
We live in Shangri La now
We live in!
We live in!
song performed by by Zug Izland
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Friend Oliver
My name is Roberts,
a reporter I used to be;
until one day I was sent to interview
an interesting man
whose name was Oliver Cyriax.
It was many year ago
that I first met him
and much to my surprise
he asked me to be his official biographer.
He stood against a fireplace
with his briar pipe in his hand.
He then went to tell me
stories from distant lands.
He wasn’t adventurer, but a ghost hunter of sorts.
I sat there in amazement
at all the things he said.
Those stories weren’t for recording,
at least not yet.
They were told to explain to me
of the kind of life he lead.
His career if you want to call it that
started in the middle 1800’s
on a Tramp Steamer
and lasted for more than half a century.
The strange things he saw
at times made my blood run cold.
He seemed a very quiet man
who was content with his life.
He did not appear to be someone
you would expect for the job that he did.
He smiled when he spoke
of a couple of amusing tales
he had been involved in
and looked sad at others
which had taken something from his life.
He related tales of horror,
which made you, shiver when he spoke.
He related tales of mystery
of which some were never to be solved.
He told me how he had lost friends
with their encounter with the unknown.
When he finished speaking,
I told him I would be honoured
to become his official biographer.
Therefore, started a thirty odd year friendship
that I hoped would never end.
From time to time, we would meet
and fresh new stories he would tell,
right up until the time
he retired and moved away.
I got a letter yesterday
to say he was happy now.
He was far away
from any ghostly goings on.
I write this as an introduction
to a character I’m going to write about
as I delve into his casebook
and tell the world
about the strange things that he did see.
poem by David Harris
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As the history majors among you here today know all too well, when people in power invent their own facts and attack those who question them, it can mark the beginning of the end of a free society. That is not hyperbole. It is what authoritarian regimes throughout history have done. They attempt to control reality. Not just our laws and our rights and our budgets, but our thoughts and beliefs.
quote by Hillary Clinton
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Cant Live Without You
Music :rudolf schenker
Lyrics:klaus meine
You stand in front of the band
With all those scarves in your hands
I see you play imaginary guitars
You people shaking your heads
Right till the end of the set
You really turn me on wherever we are
Cant live, cant live without you
Cant live, cant live without you
Cant live, cant live without you
Cant live, cant live without you
Put your hands in the air
So I can see you are there
I wanna see all your lights shining on
Want you to stand up and dance
Gonna leave you no chance
To take a breath between each single song
Cant live, cant live without you
Cant live, cant live without you
Cant live, cant live without you
Cant live, cant live without you
Stand up and shout
Were ready to rock, were ready to roll
Stand up and shout
Are you ready, are you ready
Come on and get it!
Cant live, cant live without you
Cant live, cant live without you
Cant live, cant live without you
Cant live, cant live without you
song performed by by Scorpions
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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biography ***** FEAR ME NOT, OH PLEASE, FEAR NOT ME
I am not the poem
you read in hunter's web
i am not the simile
you read in rhythmic melody
i am not the methapor
nor personification nor hyperbole
eventhough my tounge can speak
literary language's soul
and my mind can blink
mystery of endless imagination
still i am not what you are thinking
yes my hand writes
romantic tone
from veins run the
blood of pen
to spell in solemn way
I AM A POET
with young strength of joy and pain
poem by Rommel Mark Dominguez Marchan
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