Glad you're feeling better. Being ill for that long sounds massively unpleasant.
Joel Polowin #402: Her daughter was certainly influenced by it.
Pendrift #401: Are you sure the student in question has the BRAAAAAAAAAAAAINSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS?
I'm marking the first essays of the semester, and this particular statement came to my notice: "In between their frequent breakups Wollstonecraft had committed suicide twice."
Erik Nelson #8: Thus leading to the celebrated Subterranean Homecheese Blues. Or was that the Mediterranean Bluecheese Homes? My mind is going.
abi #353: In Dutch is two words one Romance one German for the same thing to have. That progressive and foroutstriving being.
Fidelio #343:
"In the beginning was the Word Perfect"?
Serge #199: I'm too spore for that.
TexAnne #317/Paula Helm Murray: Thanks.
Not unexpected, even kings must die,
it was no secret, everyone had heard.
There was no cloud across the winter sky.
You sense the shaping, know that what went by
though it was sudden was, when it occurred,
not unexpected; even kings must die
at their due time, emit their one last sigh.
While many gathered hoping for some word
there was no cloud across the winter sky,
no final opening of one bright eye,
not a hoarse whisper, we had long inferred,
not unexpected; even kings must die
in a bright room with no friend there to cry
a century's tears, nor declare absurd
there was no cloud across the winter sky.
You have to dance as if you were to fly
a man no more, but a returning bird
not unexpected. Even kings must die.
There was no cloud across the winter sky.
Bruce Baugh #178: I'm not averse to that position.
Serge #195: Surely, pointing out that fact goes against the grain?
abi #173
Stuff and nonsense. A real book is parchment*, scrolled onto beechwood; hand inscribed in oak-gall ink. Accept nothing less.
* Made only from sheep sacrificed to the Chthonic gods on moonless nights in deepest winter.
Take this and jell it as remembered light,
one simple gesture: laughing at a joke
in middle afternoon, and at one stroke
you've got it down, and kept it in plain sight
when all the other moments take their flight
or disappear behind the darkest cloak
of all forgetting. Where the world is broke
but yet we act to make things come out right.
Vision is sure and clear when you are young,
so slow to fade but still the edges pale;
we can't recall the colour of the stone
on the south wall, nor where the laundry hung.
Long years have passed and recollections fail.
Still there is crystal fire within the bone.
Serge #778: You're obviously referring to this book.
abi #754 "I'm generally unconvinced that any one person will do an adequate job of defining an entire political philosophy. I tend to think that that kind of thinking is best undertaken as a collective effort*"
I have a feeling that Marx and Engels would have agreed with you.
If libertarians are the larval stage of socialists, what are Randroids the larval stage of? Cockroaches? Dung beetles?
Serge #32: Very sexist vehicle that. When I was a boy, and I'd see the carriages marked "Wagons-lit" go by on the tracks near Clapham Junction, I wondered what the unlit ones were for.
| Year | Number of comments posted |
|---|---|
| 2010 | 36 |
| 2009 | 798 |
| 2008 | 1461 |
| 2007 | 2362 |
| 2006 | 1379 |
| 2005 | 11 |
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