I never thought that heav'n would lose its blue And sullen storm-clouds mask the gentle sky; I never thought the rose's velvet hue Would pale and sicken, though we said good-by. I never dreamed the lark would hush its note As day succeeded ever-drearier day, Nor knew the song that swelled the robin's throat Would fade to silence, when you went away. I never knew the sun's irradiant beams Upon the brooding earth no more would shine, Nor thought that only in my mocking dreams Would happiness that once I knew be mine. I never thought the slim moon, mournfully, Would shroud her pallid self in murky night. Dear heart, I never thought these things would be- I never thought they would, and I was right.
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Poetry is a way of taking life by the throat.
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Critics! Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame.
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I remember meeting you in a dark dream Of April, you or some girl, The necklace of wishes alive and breathing around your throat.
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Fear death? - to feel the fog in my throat, / The mist in my face.
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The shepherd drives the wolf from the sheep's throat, for which the sheep thanks the shepherd as his liberator, while the wolf denounces him for the same act as the destroyer of liberty.
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Man is a Religious Animal. He is the only Religious Animal. He is the only animal that has the True Religion - several of them. He is the only animal that loves his neighbor as himself and cuts his throat if his theology isn't straight. He has made a graveyard of the globe in trying his honest best to smooth his brother's path to happiness and heaven.
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I myself spent nine years in an insane asylum and I never had the obsession of suicide, but I know that each conversation with a psychiatrist, every morning at the time of his visit, made me want to hang myself, realizing that I would not be able to cut his throat.
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Even I, who had the tide going out and in before me in the bay, and even watched for the ebbs, the better to get my shellfish -- even I (I say) if I had sat down to think, instead of raging at my fate, must have soon guessed the secret, and got free. It was no wonder the fishers had not understood me. The wonder was rather that they had ever guessed my pitiful illusion, and taken the trouble to come back. I had starved with cold and hunger on that island for close upon one hundred hours. But for the fishers, I might have left my bones there, in pure folly. And even as it was, I had paid for it pretty dear, not only in past sufferings, but in my present case; being clothed like a beggar-man, scarce able to walk, and in great pain of my sore throat. I have seen wicked men and fools, a great many of both; and I believe they both get paid in the end; but the fools first.
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If a man has his throat cut in Paris, it's a murder. If 50,000 people are murdered in the east, it is a question.
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The only way to get a drink out of a Vogon is to stick your fingers down his throat.
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I believe we are still so innocent. The species are still so innocent that a person who is apt to be murdered believes that the murderer, just before he puts the final wrench on his throat, will have enough compassion to give him one sweet cup of water.
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If you don't like my opinions leave. But just remember, the animals can’t leave the cages that hold them. They are captive and suffering. As you cozy into your bed tonight, try to imagine the pain and the suffering that they endure day after day and night after night. Next time you get some soap in your eyes, try to imagine that pain for 3 or 4 days at a time. Next time you have a stomach ache, try to imagine liquid plumber being poured down your throat till you puke so much blood that you bleed to death. Next time you bump your head, try to imagine being a monkey and getting a steel plate smashed into your skull at 50 miles per hour. Then, only then should you feel compelled to tell me that I’m wrong about my opinions. For all these things have happened in the name of science. They continue in abundance till this day.
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As the adjective is lost in the sentence, So I am lost in your eyes, ears, nose, and throat—...
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Bible-shaped handbags are nothing more than a cheap way for Christian zealots to shove their religion down the throat of agnostics and atheists. Which is why the Catholic League loves them. Our advice to ACLU attorneys ââ?¬â? don't leave home without one.
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I have a perfect cure for a sore throat: cut it.
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She comes to meet death, To stain the altar of the goddess, To hold her girl-throat Toward the knife-thrust.
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Different people have different duties assigned to them by Nature Nature has given one the power or the desire to do this, and the other that. Each bird must sing with his own throat.
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Failure to examine the throat is a glaring sin of omission, especially in children. One finger in the throat and one in the rectum makes a good diagnostician.
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I have learned more about love, selflessness and human understanding in this great adventure in the world of AIDS than I ever did in the cut-throat, competitive world in which I spent my life.
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I consider the 3 most cruelly produced foods to be from lobsters, dropped alive into boiling water, veal from calves separated from their mothers and kept in crates, and pate de foie gras. (Pate de foie gras is covered in the film Mondo Kane which shows the force feeding of geese. Food is stuffed down their throats with a pole.. when they want to regurgitate.. a brass ring is tied around the throat.. the excess food creates a stuffed liver pleasing to gourmets.) (Caviar comes from the ripping out of the ovaries of the mother sturgeon fish.)
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He that has not religion to govern his morality, is not a dram better than my mastiff-dog; so long as you stroke him, and please him, and do not pinch him, he will play with you as finely as may be, he is a very good moral mastiff; but if you hurt him, he will fly in your face, and tear out your throat.
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In church your grandsire cut his throat; to do the job too long he tarried: he should have had my hearty vote to cut his throat before he married.
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A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.
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A good listener is not someone with nothing to say. A good listener is a good talker with a sore throat.
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A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.
Poetry
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A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.
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A poem begins with a lump in the throat, a home-sickness or a love-sickness. It is a reaching-out toward expression; an effort to find fulfillment. A complete poem is one where the emotion has found its thought and the thought has found the words.
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Poetry is a way of taking life by the throat.
Poetry
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The whole physical world was held together by pain, the scream in the throat and the scream in the heart. If her God was part of this torment, it's creator and sustainer, then he was a God of the strong, not of the weak.
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