(Victor Hugo (1802-1885), French poet, novelist, playwright, essayist. Trans. by Lorenzo O'Rourke. "Thoughts," Postscriptum de ma vie, in Victor Hugo's Intellectual Autobiography, Funk and Wagnalls (1907).)
'As Beethoven composed his lyrics with his spirit, it became superb. As john Miltion wrote his works, it became masterpiece, As August Rodin sculpted stones, it became living figures, As william shakespeare wrote his poetry, it became marvelous, as Leonardo da vinci made paintings, it became the greatest art. As Goethe wrote philosophy, it became universal so do something in an unique way that will dazzle the whole world like them'
Sorrento, August. For two weeks now I haven't heard a German word or understood an Italian one. This way one can manage to live with people; everything goes like clockwork and no irksome misunderstanding can arise.
(Karl Kraus (1874-1936), Austrian writer. Trans. by Harry Zohn, originally published in Beim Wort genommen (1955). Half-Truths and One-and-a-Half Truths, University of Chicago Press (1990).)
How beautiful you are, oh butterfly,
But sadly from the display case you stare,
Stone-dead in a pose on a wing of an August day,
When you would rather hover in the air.
Wieslaw Musialowski (1948-) , Polish poet. 'A Butterfly Pinned Down.'
FAMILY PICTURES...PICTURES OF FRIENDS
'Poetry of the soul' I say
Dorothy Alves Holmes
A Poet Who Loves To Sing
9: 24 PM EST
(I am the oldest in our family now at age 84 and I am constantly posting on Face Book and sending through mail to family and to the many friends I have worked with in our library 123READ PROGRAM, where I have snapped hundreds of photos of children from preschool to teens. This thought came to mind and now submitted as my quote.)
Standing on a mountaintop alone,
looking at the mid-August night sky,
seeing Heaven crying tears."
Tears carrying memories back to me,
it's hard to erase the memories,
we made together from my mind.
Each bright tear fills my heart with kind thoughts of you,
from out days past.'