Last person to post wins.

Post Reply New Topic

Mine do all the time, celery too, and bell peppers, all varieties of lettuce, spinach, any type of bean, they love veggies. At least my birds do.

My favorite poem, I know it by heart.

Mistah Kurtz—he dead.

A penny for the Old Guy

I

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

II

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer—

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom

III

This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death’s other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

IV

The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

V

Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o’clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

A particularly famous quote.

"The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" isn't bad, either.

*destroys Iamnotaparakeet*

*Comes Back* "I'm baaaack yvaN_ehT_nioJ...."

Are you serious? That's really nice!

I know:

Wordsworth's "The World is Too Much With Us"
Shakespeare's "When in Disgrace with Fortune and Men's Eyes"
Robert Frost's "Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening"

...and the opening to The Canterbury Tales, in the original middle English.

Whan that April with his shoures soote
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licuor,
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephyrus eek with his sweete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tender croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halve cours yronne,
And smale foweles maken melodye,
That slepen al the night with open eye,
(So priketh hem Nature in hir corages)
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages
And palmeres for to seeken stronge straundes
To ferne halwes couth in sondry londes
And specially from every shires ende
Of Engelond to Canterbury they wende
The hooly blissful martyr for to seeke
That hem hath holpen whan that they were sike.

Plus other bits and pieces.

*wins*

Is that the best you can do?

We all win, for a short amount of time... and then we all lose.

To be or not to be, that is the question;
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And 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 wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep, perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
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 would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th'oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th'unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that 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 fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.

Hamlet, of course. The whole speech. Barring his being approached by Ophelia....

Soliloquy

I just got Bioshock. The game is a really great game. I set some people on fire in that game. I also froze them and then hit them with a wrench. They shattered.

Mr Pedantic. Soliloquy yourself. I know Alucard tends to give 'em, but Hirano's not much of a playwright.

We had to memorize that one in school, too. For some reason it didn't stick with me, past the test date.

Hamlet wasn't very nice to Ophelia.

I am a bird, but I am NOT a parakeet!