wish I could get past it.
morning papers stink.
mukhan is the udru word for butter
and mukhan-lagaana is buttering someone up..in the english context too
WEll now I'm begining to not hate blogger so much so hey and hi and boo.
I was complaining then however.
To keep the members of our solace and kind community sacrosanct and protected from evil-doers such as me or you...
I'm not making any money off adsense but I've had visitors which is nice I suppose.
I wonder if they're doing strange things with my photos... a lubrious thought scrawled across my thinker tinker.
Norm- I'd like to define normality as everyone thinks they have the right to.
Sometimes I don't excercise my rights... :(
Hamlet:
To thine ownself be true and it must follow as the night the day and thou canst be false to any man-
But that dread of something after death
the undiscovered country from whose bourn, no traveller returns puzzles the will and makes us rather bear those ills we have, than travel to those we know not of.-
a)The whole thing:
To be or not to be, that is question:
Whether 'tis nobler to suffer
the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles.
Or by opposing end them?
To die: to sleep;
No more;and,by a sleep to say we end
the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
that flesh is heir to,'tis a consummation
devoutly to be wished.
To die;to sleep;
To sleep perchance to dream:ay there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come?(terribly famous line)
when we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause.There's the respect that makes calamity of so long life;
For who could bear the whips and scorns of time, the oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of disprized love(Hena insists it's 'despised', she studied it,it could be? a lot of shakepearean words are contested. I feel it is 'disprized , since he lost her love rather respect, when she assumed he was mad, and he drove her mad in return since she was still atttached to him),the laws delay;
The insolence of office, and the spurns
The patient merit of the unworthy takes,
when he himself might his quietus(in slence ?) make;
With a bare bodkin(nude ref hmm)? who would fardels(?) bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,(no one knows the troubles he faced! no one knows his pain!)
But the dread of something after death
the undiscovered country from whose bourn,
no traveller returns puzzles the will;
and makes us rather bear those ills we have,
than travel to those we know not of?
Thus conscience makes cowards of us all
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er the pale cast of thought,
and enterprises of great pith and moment,
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action-
(Tea leaves thwart those who court catastrophe;
desingning futures, where nothing will occur-Sylvia Plath)
What's in a name , a rose by any other name would smell as sweet-Juliet(Though 'Ann of green Gables' vehemently differed,..Katherine with a K is so much more distinguished was it? than Catherine with a C, and good old Cathy erases the 'K' and chalks down a 'C')
The earth like water, has bubbles-W.S
Et tu Brute/Brutus?-W.S
then there are the less-than-fortunate 'Rosalind's a roe and a crow" Mercutio speeches
and Romeo's Rosiland's-She hath Diana's wit and chastity and perfection speeches.
and Queen Mab, echo, Aurora... stuff i barely recall and currently lack refs for.
and here's If-Kipling:
If you can keep your head when all about you
are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
if you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
but make allowance for their doubting too,
if you can wait(something very important at Lecole)
And not be tired by waiting
Or being lied about don't deal in lies,(inuendos hard to forgive!)
And yet not look to good nor talk to wise,(says the definitive of
'the pompous prig')
If you can dream
and not make dreams your master;
If you can think
and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
and treat those two imposters just
the same
If you bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools;
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken
And stoop and bulid 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings-nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And-which is more-you'll be a Man, my son!
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