Echoing Words

I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public man, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.

William Butler Yeats
An Irish Airman Foresees His Death

e^iπ + 1 = 0

Leonhard Euler

One man looks at a dying bird and thinks there’s nothing but unanswered pain. That death’s got the final word, it’s laughing at him. Another man sees that same bird, feels the glory, feels something smiling through it.

Pvt. Witt
“The Thin Red Line”

Life is a moment between two eternities.

Blaise Pascal

But me I just bear up to my bewildered best
And some folks even seen the bear in me

Steven Fromholz
Bears

A guy is walking into his house when he spots a snail on his doorstep. He nonchalantly picks up the snail and tosses it across his driveway.

A couple months have gone by when the guy hears a slight knocking on his front door. He opens the door, and sure enough, there’s the snail looking up at him asking,
“What the hell was that all about?!”

I have to remind myself that some birds aren’t meant to be caged. Their feathers are just too bright. And when they fly away, the part of you that knows it was a sin to lock them up DOES rejoice. Still, the place you live in is that much more drab and empty that they’re gone. I guess I just miss my friend.

Red
“Shawshank Redemption”

What did the snail say as he rode on the back of a turtle?
Wheeeeee!

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

W.H. Auden
Funeral Blues

We are such stuff
As dreams are made on

William Shakespeare
The Tempest