It is known that Whistler when asked how long it took him to paint one of his "nocturnes" answered: "All of my life." With the same rigor he could have said that all of the centuries that preceded the moment when he painted were necessary. From that correct application of the law of causality it follows that slightest event presupposes the inconceivable universe and, conversely, that the universe needs even the slightest of events.
quote by Jorge Luis Borges
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Related quotes
Gyana asked
Gyana asked and I answered
What he asked he could not know
What I answered I could not know.
I know road I know building
I know upstair and Gyana
Want to fly and there is no sky.
I have sky I have loved
I have surrendered
Gyana asked and I answered.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Night Song of Amalfi
I asked the heaven of stars
What I should I give my love--
It answered me with silence,
Silence above.
I asked the darkened sea
Down where the fishermen go--
It answered me with silence,
Silence below.
Oh, I could give him weeping,
Or I could give him song--
But how can I give silence
My whole life long?
poem by Sara Teasdale
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Night Song at Amalfi
I asked the heaven of stars
What I should give my love --
It answered me with silence,
Silence above.
I asked the darkened sea
Down where the fishers go --
It answered me with silence,
Silence below.
Oh, I could give him weeping,
Or I could give him song --
But how can I give silence,
My whole life long?
poem by Sara Teasdale
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Two and two continue to make four, in spite of the whine of the ameteur for three, or the cry of the critc for five. (from Whistler vs. Ruskin, 1878)
quote by James Abbott McNeill Whistler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Whistler
Ill buy you six bay mares to put in your stable ---
Six golden apples bought with my pay.
I am the first piper who calls the sweet tune,
But I must be gone by the seventh day.
So come on, Im the whistler.
I have a fife and a drum to play.
Get ready for the whistler.
I whistle along on the seventh day ---
Whistle along on the seventh day.
All kinds of sadness Ive left behind me.
Manys the day when I have done wrong.
But Ill be yours for ever and ever.
Climb in the saddle and whistle along.
So come on, Im the whistler.
I have a fife and a drum to play.
Get ready for the whistler.
I whistle along on the seventh day ---
Whistle along on the seventh day.
Deep red are the sun-sets in mystical places.
Black are the nights on summer-day sands.
Well find the speck of truth in each riddle.
Hold the first grain of love in our hands.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Paint Me Down
Paint me down
Paint me down
Paint me down
Im walking into studio
Consider strange appeal
Paint me in the home
Im brushing up on sketchbook
Designs for love unreal
Paint me in the home
Oil and skin youll need to buy it
Consider what I mean
She sinks beneath thr moving pictures
Prepare the brush for me
Im craving with this need
Paint me down
Paint me down
Paint me down
Im soaking up the surface
Conceaiving new idea
Paint me in the home
Shes oiling up her subject
But all still life is here
Paint me in the home
All the boys with framed dimension
A cover up on lust
Hell take his pain and paint it over
Prepare the brush for me
Im craving with this need
Paint me down
Paint me down
Paint me down
song performed by by Spandau Ballet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It is our hope that the AP program can serve as an anchor for increasing rigor in our schools. Rigor can be maintained while increasing student participation.
quote by Gaston Caperton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Villanelle of Change
Since Persia fell at Marathon,
The yellow years have gathered fast:
Long centuries have come and gone.
And yet (they say) the place will don
A phantom fury of the past,
Since Persia fell at Marathon;
And as of old, when Helicon
Trembled and swayed with rapture vast
(Long centuries have come and gone),
This ancient plain, when night comes on,
Shakes to a ghostly battle-blast,
Since Persia fell at Marathon.
But into soundless Acheron
The glory of Greek shame was cast:
Long centuries have come and gone,
The suns of Hellas have all shone,
The first has fallen to the last: --
Since Persia fell at Marathon,
Long centuries have come and gone.
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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A Confer With Life
One day life asked me
What I was doing in this world
If not to love or to pass on strength
Then why, o son of Adam, you live?
Waking up from a vague dream
I looked upon life and answered
I am here to have fun all day long
And to attain my dream, to gain success
With a giggle and a chuckle
Life sniggered and asked
If to attain your dream, why you sleep
Rouse, o son of Adam, rouse
Agitated from my sweet sleep
I glared at life and said
To dream, I fall into a long serene sleep
And then I dream, I dream, I dream
Shocked or not, life looked alarmed at me
To dream, you sleep, I know
But to achieve you dream, wake up my boy
The outside sun awaits you
That day, life taught me a lesson
To achieve success, O son’s of Adam
Wake up from your dreams
DECEMBER 23,2008
poem by Sania Harris
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I Will Come Back For You
I'm sure I recognised her face
and I felt as if she knew mine too
I wanted to ask her where we'd met
but it didn't seem the right thing to do.
She then asked me how have I been?
as it had been such a very long while
now for some reason that made me feel uneasy
so I coughed nervously and tried to smile.
She went on to tell me so many things
that nearly knocked me off my feet
she even knew where I was living
and told me the name of the street.
She continued to talk all about my life
but I still never asked her how or why
and when I asked her where she had come from?
she smiled gently and pointed up to the sky.
'Are you my Guardian Angel then,
come down here to take me away
you seem to know all about me
even when I was a little boy at play? '
She never answered to this question
but before she left she kissed me on my head
then she just floated away from my view
the next thing I knew I awoke in my bed.
But I know that I wasn't just dreaming
as it felt so real and alive and true
and I know that she'll return again one day
because she whispered I'll come back for you.
poem by Kevin Halls
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I like your books
In the betting line the other
day
man behind me asked,
"are you Henry
Chinaski?"
"uh huh," I answered.
"I like your books," he went
on.
"thanks," I answered.
"who do you like in this
race?" he asked.
"uh uh," I answered.
"I like the 4 horse," he
told me.
I made my bet and went back
to my seat....
the next race I am standing in
line and here is this same man
standing behind me
again.
there are at least 50 lines at
the windows but
he has to find mine
again.
"I think this race favors the
closers," he said to the back of
my neck. "the track looks
heavy."
"listen," I said, not looking
around, "it's the kiss of death to
talk about horses at the
track..."
"what kind of rule is that?"
he asked. "God doesn't make
rules..."
I turned around and looked at him:
"maybe not, but I
do."
after the next race
I got in line, glanced behind
me:
he was not there:
lost another reader.
I lose 2 or 3 each
week.
fine.
let 'em go back to
Kafka.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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Gender determination
‘Is this a man or a woman? ’
asked a child the other,
pointing to a nude picture.
‘How can I, no dress? ’
answered the other child.
‘Is this a male or a female? ’
asked an adult the other,
pointing to a clothed child.
‘How can I, it’s dressed.”
Answered the other adult.
Child decides by clothes.
Adult confirms without cloth
01.08.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Billy The Mongolian Whistler
Billy the Mongolian whistler
came to England in 1963.
His whistling was so outstanding,
they put him up a tree.
Now Billy had a bird phobia
especially when they went tweet.
So putting him up a tree was thoughtless
if his phobia he had to beat.
As the first daylight was breaking
and the birds began to tweet.
Billy the Mongolian whistler
instead of whistling began to tweet.
Billy was so embarrassed,
down from the tree he came
and Billy the Mongolian whistler
has never been the same again.
A psychiatrist was called in for Billy,
to see if they could put him right.
But he had returned to the desert
where there isn’t a bird in sight.
poem by Orlando Belo
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In Long Rows
Millions and millions of crosses
standing in long rows.
Standing as a testament
of man’s inhumanity to man.
Their ages range low to high,
all casualties of a war
in which they answered
their counties call.
Their kin are long dead now,
but the crosses all bare a name
of someone who had they lived
might have gained fame
in another game.
However, here they lie
where the pretty flowers grow
after giving up their life
for their country.
Some are remembered
even to this day
for their acts of courage
others knew so well.
The others are just names
carved in memorials somewhere
as falling in a battle on a foreign soil.
All of them had a life
men, women and child alike.
A life they should have lived
and lived it to the full.
Now all they remain
is names on crosses
standing in long rows.
22 January 2008
This is for all those whose lives have been stolen in wars throughout the centuries.
poem by David Harris
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It takes a long time for a man to look like his portrait.
quote by James Whistler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I think the sea has thrown itself upon me and been answered, at least in part, and I believe I am a little changed - not essentially, but changed and transubstantiated as anyone is who has asked a question and been answered.
quote by Hart Crane
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dream Images
if I painted pictures
I would paint dream images
I would paint visions of inner mind's eye
I would paint life in veils swirling kaleidoscopic moods
I would paint canvasses imprinting fabric expanding universes
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The long and short of it is, we need more rigor in all kinds of programs.
quote by Margaret Spellings
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Paint my eyes in flowers
paint my hands in dragons
paint my back in windings
paint my arms in lightening
paint my neck in anks
my forehead intricate lines
paint my shoulder butterflies
paint my heart in henna
in henna of red in henna of black
body paint my heart
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Conversation with God
One day while I was dreaming I heard a soft like voice
It called me to a pond
and asked to recite
the stories of my childhood
I thought it very strange
Then with deafening noise it came
It took me to the pond and asked me 'what I could see'
'I see me' I replied
'Very good' it said
'Now do you see' it asked
'I see a little child with hair as bright as fire'
'Who is that child' it asked
'It is me' I replied again
'Do you remember what that child was like'
'No' I replied
'Until you become a child again you'll see no more'
'I do not understand' I said
'You will' came the voice
'When' I asked
'When you believe that I am real'
'But you are real' I answered
'Only one who truly believes can understand'
poem by Rachel Branscombe
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