#eats

I'd learned myself by the age of sixteen that just as girls guarded their virginity, boys guarded something less tangible which they called Themselves. ↗

— Joyce Johnson

#beats #feminism #age

An aged man is but a paltry thing, A tattered coat upon a stick, unless Soul clap its hands and sing, ↗

— W.B. Yeats

#poem #poet #yeats #age

By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me. ↗

— William Shakespeare

#boasting #killing #rage #threats #warning

Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity... ↗

— John Keats

#keats #poetry #art

But as the arms-control scholar Thomas Schelling once noted, two things are very expensive in international life: promises when they succeed and threats when they fail. ↗

— Fareed Zakaria

#fail #international #life #national life #noted

In my life I have had various health threats: polio, seizures, a brain aneurysm. None of these things has really changed me much, although it is hard to say for sure. These are events that are part of my life. They make me who I am. I am thankful for them. They are scary. ↗

— Neil Young

#scary #change

O chestnut-tree, great-rooted blossomer, Are you the leaf, the blossom or the bole? O body swayed to music, O brightening glance, How can we know the dancer from the dance? ↗

— W.B. Yeats

#wb-yeats #music

... Whereas Hunt recommended universal charity, Keats, feeling himself 'in a Mist', relied on a knowing passivity: 'Men should bear with each other - there lives not the Man who may not be cut up, aye hashed to pieces on his weakest side'. ↗

— Nicholas Roe

#compassion #keats #leigh-hunt #life

I won't forget the hood. I won't forget the days of catching a bullet on the way to the mailbox or bricks with death threats that somehow made their way through the window. ↗

— Pau Gasol

#bullet #catching #days #death #forget

X. I saw pale kings and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; They cried—“La Belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall!” XI. I saw their starved lips in the gloam, With horrid warning gaped wide, And I awoke and found me here, On the cold hill’s side. XII. And this is why I sojourn here, Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is wither’d from the lake, And no birds sing. ↗

— John Keats

#death