Tall tree stand in the distance
Remember when you were green
Don’t wipe the salt from your skin
You must keep running the distance
- Crowded House: Tall Trees -
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Nicht ist wahrer als die Unvernunft der Liebe.
- Alfred de Musset -
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... until
Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill
Shall come against him.
- William Shakespeare: Macbeth -
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Die Blätter fallen, fallen wie von weit,
als welkten in den Himmeln ferne Gärten;
sie fallen mit verneinender Gebärde.
- Rainer Maria Rilke: Herbst -
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Because hell
Hell is for children
And you know that their little lives
Can become such a mess
Hell
Hell is for children
And you shouldn't have to pay for your love
With your bones and your flesh
- Pat Benatar: Hell Is For Children -
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No morn – no noon –
No dawn – no dusk – no proper time of day –
No sky – no earthly view –
No distance looking blue –
No road – no street – no "t'other side the way" –
No end to any Row –
No indications where the Crescents go –
No top to any steeple –
No recognitions of familiar people –
No courtesies for showing 'em –
No knowing 'em!
To traveling at all – no locomotion,
No inkling of the way – no notion –
No go – by land or ocean –
No mail – no post –
No news from any foreign coast –
No park – no ring – no afternoon gentility –
No company – no nobility –
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member –
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees.
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds.
November!
- Thomas Hood (1799-1845): No! -
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Wir haben nur eine Ahnung, die in uns brennt,
und wissen, dass es einen Ort dafür gibt.
- Aus: Gökbük Wirklich Möglich – Zweibuch vom schöpferischen Winkel -
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- Max Ernst -
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My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease,
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are,
At random from the truth vainly express'd;
For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
- William Shakespeare: Sonett 147 -
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Du sahst durch mich durch, so als wär ich dein Feind,
Denn ich hatte dich schmählich verraten.
Und du weintest, du weintest, was hast du geweint
Und mir blieb nur zu trinken und warten.
- Wenzel: Abschied immer wieder -
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