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John Keats: How many bards gild the lapses of time!
by JohnKeatsWritten on the day that Mr. Le...To a Friend who sent me some RosesHow many bards gild the lapses of time! How many bards gild the lapses of time! A few of them have ever…Aesop's Fables: The Ass Carrying the Image
by Aesop The Ass and the DogThe Athenian and the ThebanThe Ass Carrying the Image A certain man put an Image on the back of his Ass to take it to one of the temples of the town. As they…John Keats: On the Sea
On Sitting Down to Read King L...On Visiting the Tomb of BurnsOn the Sea It keeps eternal whisperings around Desolate shores, and with its mighty swell Gluts twice ten thousand caverns,…Perez Hilton
Name at birth: Mario Armando Lavandeira, Jr.Perez Hilton has described himself as "the Internet's most notorious gossip columnist." In the early 2000s his online gossip site has been one of the most…William Shakespeare: Timon of Athens, Act V, Scene III
Scene IIIThe woods. Timon's cave, and a rude tomb seenEnter a Soldier, seeking TimonSoldierBy all description this should be the place. Who's here? speak, ho! No answer! What is this? Timon…William Shakespeare: As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st
As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'stAs fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st, In one of thine, from that which thou departest; And that fresh blood which youngly thou…Walt Whitman: Native Moments
Native MomentsNative moments—when you come upon me—ah you are here now, Give me now libidinous joys only, Give me the drench of my passions, give me life coarse and rank, To-day I go consort…Sonnets by William Shakespeare: CXXIX
Sonnet CXXVIII Sonnet CXXX CXXIX The expense of spirit in a waste of shame Is lust in action: and till action, lust Is perjur'd, murderous, bloody, full of blame, Savage, extreme, rude…Sonnets by William Shakespeare: XXXII
Sonnet XXXI Sonnet XXXIII XXXII If thou survive my well-contented day, When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover And shalt by fortune once more re-survey These poor rude…Sonnets by William Shakespeare: LXVI
Sonnet LXV Sonnet LXVII LXVI Tired with all these, for restful death I cry, As to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn…Trending
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