It must be soPlato, thou reason'st well! Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, This longing after immortality? Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror, Of falling into naught? Why shrinks the soul Back on herself, and startles at destruction 'Tis the divinity that stirs within us; 'Tis heaven itself, that points out an hereafter, And intimates eternity to man. Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought!
Such days and moments pass, in ways that this one has not, but there's a weary strength in experience, even in the midst of horror.
He cried inawhisperat some image, at some visionhe cried out twice, a cry that was no more than a breath: 'The horror! The horror!'
Where there is no imagination there is no horror.
But the essential advantage for a poetis to be able to see beneath both beauty and ugliness; to see the boredom, and the horror, and the glory.
You define your own horror journey, according to your taste. My definition of what makes a journey wholly or partially horrible is boredom. Add discomfort, fatigue, strain in large amounts to get the purest-quality horror, but the kernel is boredom. I offer that as a universal test of travel; boredom, called byanyother name, iswhy you yearn for the first available transport out.But what bores whom? The threshold of boredom must be like the threshold of pain, different in all of us.
A little season of love and laughter, Of light and life, and pleasure and pain, And horror of outer darkness after, And dust returneth to dust again. Then the lesser life shall be as the greater, And the lover of life shall join the hater, And the one thing cometh sooner or later, And no one knoweth the loss or gain.
In buskined measures move Pale Grief and pleasing Pain, With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast.
Tribeless, lawless, homeless ishe who loves the horrorof civil war.
And he shivered with the horror of Creation.
There is one expanding horror in American life. It is that our long odyssey toward liberty, democracy and freedom-for-all may be achieved in such a way that utopia remains forever closed, and we live in freedom and hell, debased of style, not individual from one another, void of courage, our fear rationalized away.
The horrorof theTwentieth Century was the size of each event, and the paucity of its reverberation. 540
Horror and doubt distract His troubled thoughts, and from the bottom stir The hell within him, for within him hell He brings, and round about him, nor from hell One step no more than from himself can fly.
I have a horror of the word 'flesh', which has become so shopworn.Why not 'meat'whilethey're about it? What I like is skin, a young girl's skin that is pink and shows that she has a good circulation.
My life has crept so long on a broken wing Through cells of madness, haunts of horror and fear, That I come to be grateful at last for a little thing.
Que coisa e a formosura, sena o uma caveira bem vestida, a que a menor enfermidade tira a cor, e antes de a morte a despir de todo, os anos lhe va o mortificando a gra c° a daquela exterior e aparente superf|cie, de tal sorte, que, se os olhos pudessem penetrar o interior dela, o na o poderiam ver sem horror? What isbeauty, but a well-dressed skull that loses colour with the slightest illness, and, before death robs it of everything, the grace of its external and apparent surface is mortified by the years in such a way that, if eyes could penetrate within beauty, they could watch it only full of horror?
I despair of the Republic! What a horror it is for a whole nation to be developing without a sense of beauty, and eating bananas for breakfast.
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