onionluke
Crazy Mango Extraordinaire
I escaped from the dark and dingy orlop only to be captured by cattle rustlers and now
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Post by onionluke on Nov 24, 2015 22:08:10 GMT 7
in place where yhe people listen , listen to your roots, dinae, follow the others, foloeww hai
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Nov 24, 2015 22:08:33 GMT 7
Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again. It seemed to me I stood by the iron gate leading to the drive, and for a while I could not enter, for the way was barred to me. Then, like all dreamers, I was possessed of a sudden with supernatural powers and passed like a spirit through the barrier before me.
The drive wound away in front of me, twisting and turning as it had always done. But as I advanced, I was aware that a change had come upon it. Nature had come into her own again and little by little had encroached upon the drive with long tenacious fingers, on and on the poor thread that had once been our drive. And finally, there was Manderley, Manderley, secretive and silent.
Time could not mar the perfect symmetry of those walls. Moonlight can play odd tricks upon the fancy, and suddenly it seemed to me that light came from the windows. And then a cloud came upon the moon and hovered an instant like a dark hand before a face. The illusion went with it. I looked upon a desolate shell, with no whisper of a past about its staring walls. We can never go back to Manderley again....from Rebecca, Daphne Du Maurier
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onionluke
Crazy Mango Extraordinaire
I escaped from the dark and dingy orlop only to be captured by cattle rustlers and now
Posts: 1,182
Likes: 704
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Post by onionluke on Nov 24, 2015 22:15:01 GMT 7
And pluck 'till time and times are done,the golden apples of the sun and silver Apple's off they the moon....。。。
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buhi
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Post by buhi on Nov 24, 2015 22:17:56 GMT 7
Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again. It seemed to me I stood by the iron gate leading to the drive, and for a while I could not enter, for the way was barred to me. Then, like all dreamers, I was possessed of a sudden with supernatural powers and passed like a spirit through the barrier before me.
The drive wound away in front of me, twisting and turning as it had always done. But as I advanced, I was aware that a change had come upon it. Nature had come into her own again and little by little had encroached upon the drive with long tenacious fingers, on and on the poor thread that had once been our drive. And finally, there was Manderley, Manderley, secretive and silent.
Time could not mar the perfect symmetry of those walls. Moonlight can play odd tricks upon the fancy, and suddenly it seemed to me that light came from the windows. And then a cloud came upon the moon and hovered an instant like a dark hand before a face. The illusion went with it. I looked upon a desolate shell, with no whisper of a past about its staring walls. We can never go back to Manderley again....from Rebecca, Daphne Du Maurier I could express that in a few sentences. Who reads it anyway?
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buhi
Crazy Mango Extraordinaire
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Post by buhi on Nov 24, 2015 22:19:35 GMT 7
And pluck 'till time and times are done,the golden apples of the sun and silver Apple's off they the moon....。。。 Is that Burns? If not who?
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onionluke
Crazy Mango Extraordinaire
I escaped from the dark and dingy orlop only to be captured by cattle rustlers and now
Posts: 1,182
Likes: 704
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Post by onionluke on Nov 24, 2015 22:33:42 GMT 7
Blake ? Bradbury ? Poe ?
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buhi
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Post by buhi on Nov 24, 2015 22:40:36 GMT 7
.
The Song of Wandering Aengus
W. B. Yeats, 1865 - 1939 .
I went out to the hazel wood, Because a fire was in my head, And cut and peeled a hazel wand, And hooked a berry to a thread; And when white moths were on the wing, And moth-like stars were flickering out, I dropped the berry in a stream And caught a little silver trout. When I had laid it on the floor I went to blow the fire a-flame, But something rustled on the floor, And someone called me by my name: It had become a glimmering girl With apple blossom in her hair Who called me by my name and ran And faded through the brightening air. Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done, The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.
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buhi
Crazy Mango Extraordinaire
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Post by buhi on Nov 24, 2015 22:42:57 GMT 7
Just quote it, not how clever am I.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Nov 25, 2015 1:53:33 GMT 7
Good night. Over to Blether, Eh? why me?
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me
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Post by me on Nov 25, 2015 19:29:45 GMT 7
Literary plot (literacy, sorry) are soap operas. Have the same worth as sugar sweets. Is that why books that have the best sales are rarely found in libraries. Books that are read are not literary enough for them.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Nov 25, 2015 19:31:42 GMT 7
Literary plot (literacy, sorry) are soap operas. Have the same worth as sugar sweets. Is that why books that have the best sales are rarely found in libraries. Books that are read are not literary enough for them. Yes Snobbery
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Nov 25, 2015 19:35:59 GMT 7
Is that why books that have the best sales are rarely found in libraries. Books that are read are not literary enough for them. Yes Snobbery Also known as 'pulp fiction'.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Nov 25, 2015 21:06:11 GMT 7
^^ Yup - everything has it's place.
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buhi
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Post by buhi on Nov 25, 2015 21:20:17 GMT 7
^^ Yup - everything has it's place. Sure. The Sun provides trash. The Mail slightly more trash . But who reads? <Bunny boiler> mentioned audience. To write for an audience -----been there before on this forum. No audience, no plot. But , who cares?
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Nov 25, 2015 21:31:35 GMT 7
^^ Yup - everything has it's place. Sure. The Sun provides trash. The Mail slightly more trash . But who reads? <Bunny boiler> mentioned audience. To write for an audience -----been there before on this forum. No audience, no plot. But , who cares? The Sun and The Mail both have their audience. Writers should write for themselves first and foremost. If someone else picks up and appreciates their work then great. If not - join the club of the millions that have written without appreciation. It's not exactly painful unless you have an ego. Thankfully, I'm ego free.
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