Two such as you with such a master speed, cannot be parted nor be swept away, from one another once you are agreed, that life is only life forevermore, together wing to wing and oar to oar.
Robert FrostRead
Every poem is a momentary stay against the confusion of the world.
Interpretation
Poetry serves as a brief refuge from the complexities and chaos of life.
Robert Frost's quote emphasizes the role of poetry as a temporary escape from the overwhelming chaos and confusion that life presents. In moments of disarray, poetry offers clarity and a form of solace, highlighting the power of literary expression to bring order to the chaotic world around us.
In practice
In a poetry reading event to highlight how poetry can comfort during stressful times.
Two such as you with such a master speed, cannot be parted nor be swept away, from one another once you are agreed, that life is only life forevermore, together wing to wing and oar to oar.
You have freedom when you're easy in your harness.
God made a beauteous garden With lovely flowers strown, But one straight, narrow pathway That was not overgrown. And to this beauteous garden He brought mankind to live, And said "To you, my children, These lovely flowers I give. Prune ye my vines and fig trees, With care my flowers tend, But keep the pathway open Your home is at the end." God's Garden
'Warm in December, cold in June, you say?' _x000D_ _x000D_ I don't suppose the water's changed at all. _x000D_ _x000D_ You and I know enough to know it's warm _x000D_ _x000D_ Compared with cold, and cold compared with warm. _x000D_ _x000D_ But all the fun's in how you say a thing.
For, dear me, why abandon a belief, Merely because it ceases to be true, Cling to it long enough, and not a doubt, It will turn true again, for so it goes.
The question that he frames in all but words is what to make of a diminished thing.
Against Him those women sin who torment their skin with potions, stain their cheeks with rouge and extend the line of their eyes with black coloring. Doubtless they are dissatisfied with God's plastic skill. In their own persons they convict and censure the Artificer of all things.
I've always considered myself an actor first and foremost.
My head is full of fire and grief and my tongue runs wild, pierced with shards of glass.
Doubtless criticism was originally benignant, pointing out the beauties of a work rather that its defects. The passions of men have made it malignant, as a bad heart of Procreates turned the bed, the symbol of repose, into an instrument of torture.
I love to go to the studio and stay there 10 or 12 hours a day. I love it. What is it? I don't know. It's life.
All the stuff I love most in game storytelling is never the big-picture stuff; it's the stuff that feels like curlicues, stuff that's just there because it's a game and because you can do it.
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