I saw a speckled pigeon today.
It was full of speckles.
PS. Terrible phone pictures are terrible.
Have something to say about this post? Contact me.Love is too young to know what conscience is
Love is too young to know what conscience is;
Yet who knows not conscience is born of love?
Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss,
Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove:
For, thou betraying me, I do betray
My nobler part to my gross body’s treason;
My soul doth tell my body that he may
Triumph in love; flesh stays no father reason;
But, rising at thy name, doth point out thee
As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride,
He is contented thy poor drudge to be,
To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side.
No want of conscience hold it that I call
Her love for whose dear love I rise and fall.
William Shakespeare Sonnet 151
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Have mercy.
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
it ends:
Have something to say about this post? Contact me.Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
My first taste of Starcraft II
Played 2 levels of the campaign and 3 PvP games. 1v1 and 4v4. I wish I could up my graphics but it still looks pretty good. The campaign is already pretty interesting… eep! Me/Dary’s account name is Omar (from The Wire, lol)
In all of the books I’ve read, this is probably my favorite sentence
“All at once we were madly, clumsily, shamelessly, agonizingly in love with each other; hopelessly, I should add, because that frenzy of mutual possession might have been assuaged only by our actually imbibing and assimilating every particle of each other’s soul and flesh; but there we were, unable even to mate as slum children would have so easily found an opportunity to do so.”
I remember one time, senior year in high school, when one of my teacher asked me if I had been reading any books lately, I said, yes, I just finished Lolita, and I’m starting a new Nabokov book. I awkwardly added that Vladimir Nabokov was the best writer ever, giggled, and walked away.
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