Days of our Lives!

June 3, 2007

The name’s Shelley, Percy Bysshe Shelley

Filed under: Books — Santhosh @ 6:21 PM
Quite a few have pinged me (see, in the big wide world of corporate jargon it’s always pinged – not messaged or chatted) asking from where do I get those huge status messages which take up half their Gtalk and Yahoo windows. Well, the last two weeks have all been from Shelley.
Still, many thanks to the few who believed when I told they were by me. More thanks for the others who looked at the status messages and talked to me about lost love and getting on with life (one even told me about his 10th std crush). Thanks guys – you really do make a difference in an otherwise dreary day. And yeah, I solemnly promise I’ll shave, keep away from the bottle, kick the dog near me on it’s butt and not think of anything stupid to get over her…. 😉

“Life may change, but it may fly not; Hope may vanish, but can die not; Truth be veiled, but still it burneth; Love repulsed, – but it returneth.”

All things are sold: the very light of heaven
Is venal; earth’s unsparing gifts of love,
The smallest and most despicable things
That lurk in the abysses of the deep,
All objects of our life, even life itself,
And the poor pittance which the laws allow
Of liberty, the fellowship of man,
Those duties which his heart of human love
Should urge him to perform instinctively,
Are bought and sold as in a public mart
Of undisguising Selfishness, that sets
On each its price, the stamp-mark of her reign.

“We look before and after, And pine for what is not; Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought”

And this is Hell- and in this smother,
All are damnable and damned;
Each one damning, damns the other;
They are damned by one another.
By none other are they damned.

“Heaven’s ebon vault, studded with stars unutterably bright, through which the moon’s unclouded grandeur rolls, seems like a canopy which love has spread to curtain her sleeping world”

He has outsoared the shadow of our night;
Envy and calumny and hate and pain,
And that unrest which men miscall delight,
Can touch him not and torture not again;
From the contagion of the world’s slow stain,
He is secure.

“Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory; Odors, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken. Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heaped for the beloved’s bed; And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.”

Rulers, who neither see, nor feel, nor know,
But leech-like to their fainting country cling,
Till they drop, blind in blood, without a blow,-
A people starved and stabbed in the untilled field . . .

“First our pleasures die – and then Our hopes, and then our fears – and when These are dead, the debt is due, Dust claims dust – and we die too.”

“War is the statesman’s game, the priest’s delight, The lawyer’s jest, the hired assassin’s trade.”

“The Pilgrim of Eternity, whose fame Over his living head like Heaven is bent, An early but enduring monument, Came, veiling all the lightnings of his song In sorrow.”

To suffer woes which Hope thinks infinite;
To forgive wrongs darker than death or night;
To defy Power, which seems omnipotent;
To love, and bear; to hope till Hope creates
From its own wreck the thing it contemplates;
Neither to change, nor falter, nor repent;
This, like thy glory, Titan, is to be
Good, great and joyous, beautiful and free;
This is alone Life, Joy, Empire, and Victory!
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1 Comment »

  1. aah… its the nicest thing to not get over… if u hate her- its a great way to relax.. if u dont, at least it makes sure u don fall into the trap again… if u don mind the trap either, enjoy maadi!!!nalla maatukku oru soodu:-)

    Comment by Mark IV — June 4, 2007 @ 6:00 PM | Reply


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