„And, like some low and mournful spell,
To whisper but one word—farewell!“

—  Park Benjamin, Sr., Context: But then to part! to part when Time Has wreathed his tireless wing with flowers, And spread the richness of a clime Of fairy o'er this land of ours; When glistening leaves and shaded streams In the soft light of Autumn lay, And, like the music of our dreams, The viewless breezes seemed to stray— 'T was bitter then to rend the heart With the sad thought that we must part; And, like some low and mournful spell, To whisper but one word—farewell! A Thought on Parting.
Park Benjamin, Sr. fotka
Park Benjamin, Sr.9
American journalist 1809 - 1864
Reklama

Podobné citáty

Henri Barbusse fotka

„I felt the beginning of a farewell rise in me like a sob. But there are too many of them for one to mourn them all.“

—  Henri Barbusse French novelist 1873 - 1935
Context: I felt the beginning of a farewell rise in me like a sob. But there are too many of them for one to mourn them all. How many of them are there on all this plain? How many, how many of them are there in all this moment? Our heart is only made for one heart at a time. It wears us out to look at all. One may say, "There are the others," but it is only a saying. "You shall not know; you shall not know."

Letitia Elizabeth Landon fotka
Reklama
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow fotka
Kate DiCamillo fotka
Cassandra Clare fotka
Andrew Johnson fotka

„It's a damn poor mind that can only think of one way to spell a word.“

—  Andrew Johnson American politician, 17th president of the United States (in office from 1865 to 1869) 1808 - 1875
More commonly misattributed to Andrew Jackson, the originator of this line is actually unknown.

Oscar Wilde fotka
Alanis Morissette fotka
James Patterson fotka
Richard Rodríguez fotka

„I remember Carl T. Rowan, in other words, as myself, as I was. Perhaps that is what one mourns.“

—  Richard Rodríguez American journalist and essayist 1944
Context: Only a few weeks ago, in the year in which I write, Carl T. Rowan died. Hearing the news, I felt the sadness one feels when a writer dies, a writer one claims as one's own — as potent a sense of implication as for the loss of a body one has known. Over the years, I had seen Rowan on TV. He was not, of course he was not, the young man who had been with me by the heater — the photograph on the book jacket, the voice that spoke through my eyes. The muscles of my body must form the words and the chemicals of my comprehension must form the words, the windows, the doors, the Saturdays, the turning pages of another life, a life simultaneous with mine. It is a kind of possession, reading. Willing the Other to abide in your present. His voice, mixed with sunlight, mixed with Saturday, mixed with my going to bed and then getting up, with the pattern and texture of the blanket, with the envelope from a telephone bill I used as a bookmark. With going to Mass. With going to the toilet. With my mother in the kitchen, with whatever happened that day and the next; with clouds forming over the Central Valley, with the flannel shirt I wore, with what I liked for dinner, with what was playing at the Alhambra Theater. I remember Carl T. Rowan, in other words, as myself, as I was. Perhaps that is what one mourns.

Laura Ingalls Wilder fotka
George Gordon Byron fotka
Mark Twain fotka

„I don't give a damn for a man who can only spell a word one way.“

—  Mark Twain American author and humorist 1835 - 1910
Unsourced in POP!: Create the Perfect Pitch, Title, and Tagline for Anything (2006) by Sam Horn.

„Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit. Etiam egestas wisi a erat. Morbi imperdiet, mauris ac auctor dictum.“