tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54977275855119562232024-03-13T10:30:21.086-07:00comix daemonTipoGrahficohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06704372178908619788noreply@blogger.comBlogger184125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497727585511956223.post-14001597079852854622016-03-29T16:15:00.001-07:002016-03-29T16:15:42.094-07:00And... it's a wrap<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oJjr4FQyMUk/VvsL5XWeERI/AAAAAAAAEJ8/t3JNlM5XdTMrFGtt8KdstCFkAyFiWSygQ/s1600/thats-all-folks.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oJjr4FQyMUk/VvsL5XWeERI/AAAAAAAAEJ8/t3JNlM5XdTMrFGtt8KdstCFkAyFiWSygQ/s1600/thats-all-folks.png" /></a></div>
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<h4>
Thank for your time, but this story now will continue in another place. </h4>
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<a href="http://sanktiocomix.wordpress.com/">Sanktio Comix</a> it's my personal site and portfolio, in Portuguese. I'm also working in an English version on <a href="http://alephsynn.wordpress.com/">Wordpress</a>. One of this days there should be some regular content over there.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497727585511956223.post-15197963918347875762016-03-29T14:03:00.000-07:002016-03-31T09:41:44.079-07:00Nevermore from the Raven<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/nAHrt1XT32E"></iframe> <br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">Nevermore from the Raven -The Imaginary Life and Mysterious Death of Edgar Allan Poe.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497727585511956223.post-48585406060504455012016-03-29T10:29:00.000-07:002016-03-31T09:37:23.362-07:00The fox and the lion A Fox who had never seen a Lion one day met one, and was so terrified at the sight of him that he was ready to die with fear. After a time he met him again, and was still rather frightened, but not nearly so much as he had been when he met him first. But when he saw him for the third time he was so far from being afraid that he went up to him and began to talk to him as if he had known him all his life. Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497727585511956223.post-14448281184394035072016-03-29T10:28:00.000-07:002016-03-31T09:37:23.404-07:00The Boy Bathing A Boy was bathing in a river and got out of his depth, and was in great danger of being drowned. A man who was passing along a road heard his cries for help, and went to the riverside and began to scold him for being so careless as to get into deep water, but made no attempt to help him. “Oh, sir,” cried the Boy, “please help me first and scold me afterwards.” Give assistance, not advice, in a crisis. Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497727585511956223.post-17517694783780663422016-03-29T10:27:00.000-07:002016-03-31T09:37:23.418-07:00The moon and her motherThe Moon once begged her Mother to make her A GOWN. “How can i?” Replied she;“there’s no fitting your figure. At one time you’re a New Moon, and at another you’re a full moon; and between whiles you’re neither one nor the other.” Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497727585511956223.post-50954788415082553072016-03-29T10:26:00.000-07:002016-03-31T09:37:23.436-07:00The Prophet A Prophet sat in the market-place and told the fortunes of all who cared to engage his services. Suddenly there came running up one who told him that his house had been broken into by thieves, and that they had made off with everything they could lay hands on. He was up in a moment, and rushed off, tearing his hair and calling down curses on the miscreants. The bystanders were much amused, and one of them said, “ Our friend professes to know what is going to happen to others, but it seems he’s not clever enough to perceive what’s in store for himself.” Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497727585511956223.post-19735775429036077592016-03-29T10:24:00.000-07:002016-03-31T09:37:23.476-07:00The Astronomer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xgGEYhgSiNA/VvriUK_IrPI/AAAAAAAAEH4/rAYx95nzo3AHLmfA4WAXqUmRdUTNKKY4g/s1600/photo-1419242902214-272b3f66ee7a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xgGEYhgSiNA/VvriUK_IrPI/AAAAAAAAEH4/rAYx95nzo3AHLmfA4WAXqUmRdUTNKKY4g/s1600/photo-1419242902214-272b3f66ee7a.jpg" /></a></div><br /> There was once an Astronomer whose habit it was to go out at night and observe the stars. One night, as he was walking about outside the town gates, gazing up absorbed into the sky and not looking where he was going, he fell into a dry well. As he lay there groaning, some one passing by heard him, and, coming to the edge of the well, looked down and, on learning what had happened, said, “If you really mean to say that you were looking so hard at the sky that you didn’t even see where your feet were carrying you along the ground, it appears to me that you deserve all you’ve got.” Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497727585511956223.post-41223114266900711412016-03-29T10:23:00.001-07:002016-03-31T09:37:23.518-07:00The gnat & the bull A Gnat alighted on one of the horns of a Bull, and remained sitting there for a considerable time. When it had rested sufficiently and was about to fly away, it said to the Bull, “Do you mind if I go now?” The Bull merely raised his eyes and remarked, without interest, “It’s all one to me; I didn’t notice when you came, and I shan’t know when you go away.” We may often be of more consequence in our own eyes than in the eyes of our neighbours. Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497727585511956223.post-5078293229915595172016-03-29T10:23:00.000-07:002016-03-31T09:37:23.502-07:00The Two BagsEvery man carries Two Bags about with him, one in front and one behind, and both are packed full of faults. The Bag in front contains his neighbours’ faults, the one behind his own. Hence it is that men do not see their own faults, but never fail to see those of others. Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497727585511956223.post-55983333739311660892016-03-14T12:02:00.000-07:002016-03-31T09:37:23.532-07:00Lenore by Edgar Allan Poe<br />Ah, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever! <br />Let the bell toll!—a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river.<br />And, Guy de Vere, hast thou no tear?—weep now or never more!<br />See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore!<br />Come! let the burial rite be read—the funeral song be sung!—<br />An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young—<br />A dirge for her, the doubly dead in that she died so young. <br /><br />"Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride,<br />And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her—that she died!<br />How shall the ritual, then, be read?—the requiem how be sung<br />By you—by yours, the evil eye,—by yours, the slanderous tongue<br />That did to death the innocence that died, and died so young?"<br /><br />Peccavimus; but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath song<br />Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no wrong!<br />The sweet Lenore hath "gone before," with Hope, that flew beside,<br />Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy bride—<br />For her, the fair and débonnaire, that now so lowly lies,<br />The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes—<br />The life still there, upon her hair—the death upon her eyes. <br /><br />"Avaunt! to-night my heart is light. No dirge will I upraise,<br />But waft the angel on her flight with a pæan of old days! <br />Let no bell toll!—lest her sweet soul, amid its hallowed mirth,<br />Should catch the note, as it doth float up from the damned Earth.<br />To friends above, from fiends below, the indignant ghost is riven—<br />From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven—<br />From grief and groan to a golden throne beside the King of Heaven."Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497727585511956223.post-78681268904257323232016-03-13T11:28:00.000-07:002016-03-31T09:37:23.545-07:00The serpent & the eagle An Eagle swooped down upon a Serpent and seized it in his talons with the intention of carrying it off and devouring it. But the Serpent was too quick for him and had its coils round him in a moment; and then there ensued a life-and-death struggle between the two. A countryman, who was a witness of the encounter, came to the assistance of the Eagle, and succeeded in freeing him from the Serpent and enabling him to escape. In revenge the Serpent spat some of his poison into the man's drinking-horn. Heated with his exertions, the man was about to slake his thirst with a draught from the horn, when the Eagle knocked it out of his hand, and spilled its contents upon the ground. One good turn deserves another. Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497727585511956223.post-56451025298336967052016-03-07T14:31:00.000-08:002016-03-31T09:37:23.559-07:00Toppi's Arabian Nights<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/--LLyHraY34s/Vvrz7wiDFtI/AAAAAAAAEIs/n6eVKJB1ow8F_9ZANlPvMvfdRDuWTPB7Q/s1600/0_87a59_7d5b492d_orig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/--LLyHraY34s/Vvrz7wiDFtI/AAAAAAAAEIs/n6eVKJB1ow8F_9ZANlPvMvfdRDuWTPB7Q/s1600/0_87a59_7d5b492d_orig.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x9qgwBqOapQ/Vvr0FM98VHI/AAAAAAAAEI8/u-rwWduVO68b_kT0CtK9W32ZYRO05NSVQ/s1600/0_87a1c_2e65345a_orig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x9qgwBqOapQ/Vvr0FM98VHI/AAAAAAAAEI8/u-rwWduVO68b_kT0CtK9W32ZYRO05NSVQ/s1600/0_87a1c_2e65345a_orig.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-B9aidyqky6M/Vvr0GBEYHwI/AAAAAAAAEJM/JTjLGa7MTgQieDUCW5_QresTVhuJg_6sw/s1600/0_87a2f_b8aecec3_orig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-B9aidyqky6M/Vvr0GBEYHwI/AAAAAAAAEJM/JTjLGa7MTgQieDUCW5_QresTVhuJg_6sw/s1600/0_87a2f_b8aecec3_orig.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ixQ8A31jMdM/Vvr0FqEaIvI/AAAAAAAAEJA/PaCEXYcbvl8L_DTcVfdDis3HGNDBKdCpQ/s1600/0_87a21_51d5865f_orig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ixQ8A31jMdM/Vvr0FqEaIvI/AAAAAAAAEJA/PaCEXYcbvl8L_DTcVfdDis3HGNDBKdCpQ/s1600/0_87a21_51d5865f_orig.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-14xGZSZCmAI/Vvr0FgYjwBI/AAAAAAAAEJI/oZN2RpHxJx8AJfbU4tsddcoLFRYMB9RpQ/s1600/0_87a25_e5959546_orig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-14xGZSZCmAI/Vvr0FgYjwBI/AAAAAAAAEJI/oZN2RpHxJx8AJfbU4tsddcoLFRYMB9RpQ/s1600/0_87a25_e5959546_orig.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aomQwUCAvYE/Vvr0FwOr2QI/AAAAAAAAEJE/9LXxvMOJjFM_5ACjdcVw5iGLCvm43YA8w/s1600/0_87a28_997a0611_orig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aomQwUCAvYE/Vvr0FwOr2QI/AAAAAAAAEJE/9LXxvMOJjFM_5ACjdcVw5iGLCvm43YA8w/s1600/0_87a28_997a0611_orig.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GPQffdZjobY/Vvr0GY7Ao1I/AAAAAAAAEJQ/IUgCnLttkrMzbQLquq-UP9gQb4zV7X85Q/s1600/0_87a35_5fab702b_orig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GPQffdZjobY/Vvr0GY7Ao1I/AAAAAAAAEJQ/IUgCnLttkrMzbQLquq-UP9gQb4zV7X85Q/s1600/0_87a35_5fab702b_orig.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X9eTSWvzd2U/Vvr0G0yg0pI/AAAAAAAAEJU/5NZuXvlXL0MTNSGsJ3Z_G64VBfFrOTeQg/s1600/0_87a46_f9a8c267_orig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X9eTSWvzd2U/Vvr0G0yg0pI/AAAAAAAAEJU/5NZuXvlXL0MTNSGsJ3Z_G64VBfFrOTeQg/s1600/0_87a46_f9a8c267_orig.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2K_Ja4YFk-U/Vvr0ESM2oEI/AAAAAAAAEIw/EpEQ74apCy8jMFPLbQpvwXHu0kJcIOBSA/s1600/0_879ef_1bedd7cd_orig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2K_Ja4YFk-U/Vvr0ESM2oEI/AAAAAAAAEIw/EpEQ74apCy8jMFPLbQpvwXHu0kJcIOBSA/s1600/0_879ef_1bedd7cd_orig.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AYqqnI2OYxQ/Vvr0Etc89II/AAAAAAAAEI0/Mzpe_KnPMCkBMm1OdLL_KQmrbTkHOffDg/s1600/0_879f5_9d81f1bd_orig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AYqqnI2OYxQ/Vvr0Etc89II/AAAAAAAAEI0/Mzpe_KnPMCkBMm1OdLL_KQmrbTkHOffDg/s1600/0_879f5_9d81f1bd_orig.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e4084xYqu6E/Vvr0EsJagEI/AAAAAAAAEI4/u1gH3CizvfAEprIZdzBxn0rNZxhvFxgcg/s1600/0_879f9_f6a815a0_orig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e4084xYqu6E/Vvr0EsJagEI/AAAAAAAAEI4/u1gH3CizvfAEprIZdzBxn0rNZxhvFxgcg/s1600/0_879f9_f6a815a0_orig.jpg" /></a></div> Some image from Sharaz De, Sergio's Toppi adaptation from tales from the <i>1001 Arabian Nights</i>.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497727585511956223.post-72686048119552781872016-03-06T10:30:00.000-08:002016-03-31T09:37:23.573-07:00The horse & the groom There was once a Groom who used to spend long hours clipping and combing the Horse of which he had charge, but who daily stole a portion of his allowance of oats, and sold it for his own profit. The Horse gradually got into worse and worse condition, and at last cried to the Groom... “If you really want me to look sleek and well, you must comb me less and feed me more.” Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497727585511956223.post-34486791514072923372016-03-03T12:51:00.000-08:002016-03-31T09:37:23.586-07:00De BeneficiisBook 1<br />by Lucius Annaeus Seneca, 60 AD<br /><br />Among the numerous faults of those who pass their lives recklessly and without due reflexion, my good friend Liberalis, I should say that there is hardly any one so hurtful to society as this, that we neither know how to bestow or how to receive a benefit. It follows from this that benefits are badly invested, and become bad debts: in these cases it is too late to complain of their not being returned, for they were thrown away when we bestowed them. Nor need we wonder that while the greatest vices are common, none is more common than ingratitude: for this I see is brought about by various causes.<br /><br />The first of these is, that we do not choose worthy persons upon whom to bestow our bounty, but although when we are about to lend money we first make a careful enquiry into the means and habits of life of our debtor, and avoid sowing seed in a worn-out or unfruitful soil, yet without any discrimination we scatter our benefits at random rather than bestow them. It is hard to say whether it is more dishonourable for the receiver to disown a benefit, or for the giver to demand a return of it: for a benefit is a loan, the repayment of which depends merely upon the good feeling of the debtor. To misuse a benefit like a spendthrift is most shameful, because we do not need our wealth but only our intention to set us free from the obligation of it; for a benefit is repaid by being acknowledged. Yet while they are to blame who do not even show so much gratitude as to acknowledge their debt, we ourselves are to blame no less. We find many men ungrateful, yet we make more men so, because at one time we harshly and reproachfully demand some return for our bounty, at another we are fickle and regret what we have given, at another we are peevish and apt to find fault with trifles. By acting thus we destroy all sense of gratitude, not only after we have given anything, but while we are in the act of giving it.<br /><br />Who has ever thought it enough to be asked for anything in an off-hand manner, or to be asked only once?<br /><br />Who, when he suspected that he was going to be asked for any thing, has not frowned, turned away his face, pretended to be busy, or purposely talked without ceasing, in order not to give his suitor a chance of preferring his request, and avoided by various tricks having to help his friend in his pressing need? and when driven into a corner, has not either put the matter off, that is, given a cowardly refusal, or promised his help ungraciously, with a wry face, and with unkind words, of which he seemed to grudge the utterance.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497727585511956223.post-92029917000648912892016-02-17T14:08:00.000-08:002016-03-31T09:48:14.181-07:00Bill Maher reads from The Purpose Driven Life<div class="video-container">
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<br /><br />Bill Maher's encore to his "The Decider" stand-up performance, in which he reads selections from Rick Warren's <i>The Purpose Driven Life</i>.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497727585511956223.post-24445284949560982792016-02-12T12:31:00.000-08:002016-03-31T09:37:23.613-07:00On the geneology of MoralsAt this point I can no longer avoid giving a first, provisional statement of my own hypothesis concerning the origin of the “bad conscience”: it may sound rather strange and needs to be pondered, lived with, and slept on for a long time. I regard the bad conscience as the serious illness that man was bound to contract under the stress of the most fundamental change he ever experienced—that change which occurred when he found himself finally enclosed within the walls of society and of peace. The situation that faced sea animals when they were compelled to become land animals or perish was the same as that which faced these semi-animals, well adapted to the wilderness, to war, to prowling, to adventure: suddenly all their instincts were disvalued and “suspended.”<br /><br /> From now on they had to walk on their feet and “bear themselves” whereas hitherto they had been borne by the water: a dreadful heaviness lay upon them. They felt unable to cope with the simplest undertakings; in this new world they no longer possessed their former guides, their regulating, unconscious and infallible drives: they were reduced to thinking, inferring, reckoning, coordinating cause and effect, these unfortunate creatures; they were reduced to their “consciousness,” their weakest and most fallible organ! I believe there has never been such a feeling of misery on earth, such a leaden discomfort and at the same time the old instincts had not suddenly ceased to make their usual demands. Only it was hardly or rarely possible to humor them: as a rule they had to seek new and, as it were, subterranean gratifications.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;">- Friedrich Nietzsche</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497727585511956223.post-47267286548533671272016-02-12T10:34:00.000-08:002016-03-31T09:37:23.626-07:00The Pomegranate the Apple-Tree and the Bramble A Pomegranate and an Apple-tree were disputing about the quality of their fruits, and each claimed that its own was the better of the two. High words passed between them, and a violent quarrel was imminent, when a Bramble impudently poked its head out of a neighbouring hedge and said: There, that’s enough, my friends; don’t let us quarrel. Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497727585511956223.post-3418152281427319622016-02-06T10:30:00.000-08:002016-03-31T09:37:23.639-07:00The Crow and the Raven A Crow became very jealous of a Raven, because the latter was regarded by men as a bird of omen which foretold the future, and was accordingly held in great respect by them. She was very anxious to get the same sort of reputation herself; and, one day, seeing some travellers approaching, she flew on to a branch of a tree at the roadside and cawed as loud as she could. The travellers were in some dismay at the sound, for they feared it might be a bad omen; till one of them, spying the Crow, said to his companions, It’s all right, my friends, we can go on without fear, for it’s only a crow and that means nothing. Those who pretend to be something they are not only make themselves ridiculous. Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497727585511956223.post-43850029939845783992016-02-05T10:33:00.000-08:002016-03-31T09:37:23.652-07:00The Bee & Jupiter A Queen Bee from Hymettus flew up to Olympus with some fresh honey from the hive as a present to Jupiter, who was so pleased with the gift that he promised to give her anything she liked to ask for. She said she would be very grateful if he would give stings to the bees, to kill people who robbed them of their honey. Jupiter was greatly displeased with this request, for he loved mankind: but he had given his word, so he said that stings they should have. The stings he gave them, however, were of such a kind that whenever a bee stings a man the sting is left in the wound and the bee dies. Evil wishes, like fowls, come home to roost. Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497727585511956223.post-45902425630454088722016-02-04T11:06:00.000-08:002016-03-31T09:37:23.665-07:00The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe illustrated by Gustav Doré <br />Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door."'T is some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door—Only this, and nothing more."<div><br />Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.Eagerly I wished the morrow:—vainly I had sought to borrowFrom my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—Nameless here for evermore.<br /></div><div>And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtainThrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating"'T is some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber doorSome late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door;—This it is, and nothing more."<br /></div><div>Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,That I scarce was sure I heard you"—here I opened wide the door;—Darkness there, and nothing more.<br /></div><div>Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"Merely this and nothing more.<br /></div><div>Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,Soon again I heard a tapping, somewhat louder than before."Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—'T is the wind and nothing more!"<br /></div><div>Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—Perched, and sat, and nothing more.<br /></div><div>[21]</div><div><br /></div><div>Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore,—Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."<br /></div><div>Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;For we cannot help agreeing that no living human beingEver yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,With such name as "Nevermore."<br /></div><div>But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke onlyThat one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.Nothing further then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before—On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."Then the bird said, "Nevermore."<br /></div><div>Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful DisasterFollowed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden boreOf 'Never—nevermore.'"<br /></div><div>[22]</div><div><br /></div><div>But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linkingFancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yoreMeant in croaking "Nevermore."<br /></div><div>This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressingTo the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease recliningOn the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'erShe shall press, ah, nevermore!<br /></div><div>Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censerSwung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor."Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent theeRespite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!"Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."<br /></div><div>"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!"Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."<br /></div><div>[23]</div><div><br /></div><div>"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil—prophet still, if bird or devil!By that Heaven that bends above, us—by that God we both adore—Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."<br /></div><div>"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting—"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."<br /></div><div>And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sittingOn the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floorShall be lifted—nevermore!<br /><br />[24]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[25]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[26]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[27]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,<br />Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore."<br /><br /><br />[28]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[29]<br /><br /><br /><img src="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/17192/17192-h/images/i004.jpg" /><br /><br />[30]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[31]<br /><br />"Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,<br />And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor."<br /><br /><br />[32]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[33]<br /><br /><br /><img src="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/17192/17192-h/images/i005.jpg" /><br /><br />[34]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[35]<br /><br />"Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow<br />From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore."<br /><br /><br />[36]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[37]<br /><br /><br /><img src="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/17192/17192-h/images/i006.jpg" /><br /><br />[38]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[39]<br /><br />"Sorrow for the lost Lenore."<br /><br /><br />[40]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[41]<br /><br /><br /><img src="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/17192/17192-h/images/i007.jpg" /><br /><br />[42]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[43]<br /><br />"For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—<br />Nameless here for evermore."<br /><br /><br />[44]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[45]<br /><br /><br /><img src="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/17192/17192-h/images/i008.jpg" /><br /><br />[46]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[47]<br /><br />"'T is some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door—<br />Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door."<br /><br /><br />[48]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[49]<br /><br /><br /><img src="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/17192/17192-h/images/i009.jpg" /><br /><br />[50]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[51]<br /><br />"Here I opened wide the door;—<br />Darkness there, and nothing more."<br /><br /><br />[52]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[53]<br /><br /><br /><img src="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/17192/17192-h/images/i010.jpg" /><br /><br />[54]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[55]<br /><br />"Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before."<br /><br /><br />[56]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[57]<br /><br /><br /><img src="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/17192/17192-h/images/i011.jpg" /><br /><br />[58]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[59]<br /><br />"'Surely,' said I, 'surely that is something at my window lattice;<br />Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore.'"<br /><br /><br />[60]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[61]<br /><br /><br /><img src="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/17192/17192-h/images/i012.jpg" /><br /><br />[62]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[63]<br /><br />"Open here I flung the shutter."<br /><br /><br />[64]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[65]<br /><br /><br /><img src="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/17192/17192-h/images/i013.jpg" /><br /><br />[66]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[67]<br /><br />. . . . . . . . "A stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.<br />Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he."<br /><br /><br />[68]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[69]<br /><br /><br /><img src="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/17192/17192-h/images/i014.jpg" /><br /><br />[70]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[71]<br /><br />"Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—<br />Perched, and sat, and nothing more."<br /><br /><br />[72]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[73]<br /><br /><br /><img src="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/17192/17192-h/images/i015.jpg" /><br /><br />[74]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[75]<br /><br />"Wandering from the Nightly shore."<br /><br /><br />[76]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[77]<br /><br /><br /><img src="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/17192/17192-h/images/i016.jpg" /><br /><br />[78]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[79]<br /><br />"Till I scarcely more than muttered, 'Other friends have flown before—<br />On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'"<br /><br /><br />[80]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[81]<br /><br /><br /><img src="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/17192/17192-h/images/i017.jpg" /><br /><br />[82]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[83]<br /><br />"Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking<br />Fancy unto fancy."<br /><br /><br />[84]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[85]<br /><br /><br /><img src="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/17192/17192-h/images/i018.jpg" /><br /><br />[86]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[87]<br /><br />"But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er<br />She shall press, ah, nevermore!"<br /><br /><br />[88]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[89]<br /><br /><br /><img src="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/17192/17192-h/images/i019.jpg" /><br /><br />[90]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[91]<br /><br />"'Wretch,' I cried, 'thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee<br />Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!'"<br /><br /><br />[92]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[93]<br /><br /><br /><img src="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/17192/17192-h/images/i020.jpg" /><br /><br />[94]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[95]<br /><br />"On this home by Horror haunted."<br /><br /><br />[96]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[97]<br /><br /><br /><img src="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/17192/17192-h/images/i021.jpg" /><br /><br />[98]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[99]<br /><br />. . . . . . . . . "Tell me truly, I implore—<br />Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!"<br /><br /><br />[100]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[101]<br /><br /><br /><img src="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/17192/17192-h/images/i022.jpg" /><br /><br />[102]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[103]<br /><br />"Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,<br />It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore."<br /><br /><br />[104]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[105]<br /><br /><br /><img src="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/17192/17192-h/images/i023.jpg" /><br /><br />[106]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[107]<br /><br />"'Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked, upstarting."<br /><br /><br />[108]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[109]<br /><br /><br /><img src="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/17192/17192-h/images/i024.jpg" /><br /><br />[110]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[111]<br /><br />"'Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!'"<br /><br /><br />[112]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[113]<br /><br /><br /><img src="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/17192/17192-h/images/i025.jpg" /><br /><br />[114]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[115]<br /><br />"And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor<br />Shall be lifted—nevermore!"<br /><br /><br />[116]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[117]<br /><br /><br /><img src="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/17192/17192-h/images/i026.jpg" /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497727585511956223.post-37538397713473100772016-02-03T13:38:00.000-08:002016-03-31T09:37:23.680-07:00Patty Smith reads The Tiger<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" width="740" width="480" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/QSLjYScyaBo" ></iframe> <br /><br />Patti Smith reads '<i><a href="http://chakasidyn.blogspot.pt/2016/03/tyger-tyger-by-william-blake.html">The Tiger</a></i>' (by William Blake) during a benefit concert for the museum on October 20, 2011. The concert was held in conjunction with the exhibition opening of Patti Smith: Camera Solo.<br /><br />Patti Smith: Camera Solo was on view from October 20, 2011 through February 19, 2012.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497727585511956223.post-7277858271021341422016-02-02T10:31:00.000-08:002016-03-31T09:37:23.694-07:00The Old Hound<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xSTtqF1lI3E/VvrhSgs4YYI/AAAAAAAAEHw/T6T64zxXbzgNszqPz_F9f0aLKFdELPJeQ/s1600/photo-1437075130536-230e17c888b5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xSTtqF1lI3E/VvrhSgs4YYI/AAAAAAAAEHw/T6T64zxXbzgNszqPz_F9f0aLKFdELPJeQ/s1600/photo-1437075130536-230e17c888b5.jpg" /></a></div><br /><br />A Hound who had served his master well for years, and had run down many a quarry in his time, began to lose his strength and speed owing to age. One day, when out hunting, his master started a powerful wild boar and set the Hound at him. The latter seized the beast by the ear, but his teeth were gone and he could not retain his hold; so the boar escaped. His master began to scold him severely, but the Hound interrupted him with these words: “My will is as strong as ever, master, but my body is old and feeble. You ought to honour me for what I have been instead of abusing me for what I am.” Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497727585511956223.post-29275628381646254332016-01-31T10:26:00.000-08:002016-03-31T09:37:23.708-07:00The Fox & the Grapes A hungry Fox saw some fine bunches of Grapes hanging from a vine that was trained along a high trellis, and did his best to reach them by jumping as high as he could into the air. But it was all in vain, for they were just out of reach: so he gave up trying, and walked away with an air of dignity and unconcern, remarking, “I thought those Grapes were ripe, but I see now they are quite sour.” Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497727585511956223.post-55371217253566352602016-01-26T10:31:00.000-08:002016-03-31T09:37:23.726-07:00The North Wind and the Sun<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aAZftqqx_JM/VvrwambOl5I/AAAAAAAAEIY/E_dcpQrt52AsoXKpoTgVeCmSd_SyAq_lw/s1600/northwind.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aAZftqqx_JM/VvrwambOl5I/AAAAAAAAEIY/E_dcpQrt52AsoXKpoTgVeCmSd_SyAq_lw/s1600/northwind.jpg" /></a></div> A dispute arose between the North Wind and the Sun, each claiming that he was stronger than the other. At last they agreed to try their powers upon a traveller, to see which could soonest strip him of his cloak. The North Wind had the first try; and, gathering up all his force for the attack, he came whirling furiously down upon the man, and caught up his cloak as though he would wrest it from him by one single effort: but the harder he blew, the more closely the man wrapped it round himself. Then came the turn of the Sun. At first he beamed gently upon the traveller, who soon unclasped his cloak and walked on with it hanging loosely about his shoulders: then he shone forth in his full strength, and the man, before he had gone many steps, was glad to throw his cloak right off and complete his journey more lightly clad. <b>Persuasion is better than force.</b>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497727585511956223.post-80365649058271555722016-01-18T10:26:00.000-08:002016-03-31T09:37:23.741-07:00The crow and the pitcher<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tk6gJnasop0/Vvrw9a1vE1I/AAAAAAAAEIc/SopIbr13Xk4F0eu9wF0CCp5RC_jjks6Yg/s1600/crow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tk6gJnasop0/Vvrw9a1vE1I/AAAAAAAAEIc/SopIbr13Xk4F0eu9wF0CCp5RC_jjks6Yg/s1600/crow.jpg" /></a></div> A thirsty Crow found a Pitcher with some water in it, but so little was there that, try as she might, she could not reach it with her beak, and it seemed as though she would die of thirst within sight of the remedy. At last she hit upon a clever plan. She began dropping pebbles into the Pitcher, and with each pebble the water rose a little higher until at last it reached the brim, and the knowing bird was enabled to quench her thirst. Necessity is the mother of invention. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com