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Read through the most famous quotes by topic #try




The poetry of love is the greatest gift God gave us. ↗


— Sorin Cerin


#wisdom-inspirational #inspirational

Não estatize meus sentimentos. Pra seu governo, o meu estado é independente. ↗


— Renato Russo


#love #poetry #love

...fine love poetry tends to be written when the object of one's affection is at a safe distance; also, it often reflects a love of words more than a love of women... ↗


— Kate Fox


#poetry #love

You and those shot-glass eyes, deep swirling pools of 80-proof firewater, with the depth and profundity of Saturn’s spinning pulsars… ↗


— Brandi L. Bates


#love #poetry #shakespeare #women #love

For the blind poor, Rx: bleed. For yourself; Rx: love nothing. Sow rows of onions only. Plant turnips in the dark of the moon. ↗


— T.R. Hummer


#love

For the error bred in the bone Of each woman and each man Craves what it cannot have, Not universal love But to be loved alone. ↗


— W.H. Auden


#love

God's plan is to make much of the man, far more of him than of anything else. Men are God's method. The Church is looking for better methods; God is looking for better men. ↗


— E.M. Bounds


#character #individuals #ministry #men

Long ago, when faeries and men still wandered the earth as brothers, the MacLeod chief fell in love with a beautiful faery woman. They had no sooner married and borne a child when she was summoned to return to her people. Husband and wife said a tearful goodbye and parted ways at Fairy Bridge, which you can still visit today. Despite the grieving chief, a celebration was held to honor the birth of the newborn boy, the next great chief of the MacLeods. In all the excitement of the celebration, the baby boy was left in his cradle and the blanket slipped off. In the cold Highland night he began to cry. The baby’s cry tore at his mother, even in another dimension, and so she went to him, wrapping him in her shawl. When the nursemaid arrived, she found the young chief in the arms of his mother, and the faery woman gave her a song she insisted must be sung to the little boy each night. The song became known as “The Dunvegan Cradle Song,” and it has been sung to little chieflings ever since. The shawl, too, she left as a gift: if the clan were ever in dire need, all they would have to do was wave the flag she’d wrapped around her son, and the faery people would come to their aid. Use the gift wisely, she instructed. The magic of the flag will work three times and no more. As I stood there in Dunvegan Castle, gazing at the Fairy Flag beneath its layers of protective glass, it was hard to imagine the history behind it. The fabric was dated somewhere between the fourth and seventh centuries. The fibers had been analyzed and were believed to be from Syria or Rhodes. Some thought it was part of the robe of an early Christian saint. Others thought it was a part of the war banner for Harald Hardrada, king of Norway, who gave it to the clan as a gift. But there were still others who believed it had come from the shoulders of a beautiful faery maiden. And that faery blood had flowed through the MacLeod family veins ever since. Those people were the MacLeods themselves. ↗


— Signe Pike


#clan-macleod #faery-blood #fairy-flag #folklore #love

You alone in Europe are not ancient oh Christianity The most modern European is you Pope Pius X And you whom the windows observe shame keeps you From entering a church and confessing this morning You read the prospectuses the catalogues the billboards that sing aloud That's the poetry this morning and for the prose there are the newspapers There are the 25 centime serials full of murder mysteries Portraits of great men and a thousand different headlines ("Zone") ↗


— Guillaume Apollinaire


#billboard #catalogs #church #city #confession

These men seem not to know that poetry has its particular rules and precepts; and that history is governed by others directly opposite. ↗


— Lucian of Samosata


#poetry #style #men






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