Death is the sound of distant thunder at a picnic.
W. H. AudenRead
I will love you forever" swears the poet. I find this easy to swear too. "I will love you at 4:15 pm next Tuesday" - Is that still as easy?
Interpretation
The quote contrasts the ideal of eternal love with the challenge of committing to specific moments in time.
W. H. Auden's quote explores the complexity of love, highlighting that while it may be easy to declare deep, enduring feelings, actually committing to those feelings in tangible, everyday moments is much more challenging. It suggests that true love is not just about grand promises but also about the consistency and presence in daily life.
In practice
During a wedding ceremony, this quote could emphasize the importance of love not just in grand gestures but in everyday commitments.
Death is the sound of distant thunder at a picnic.
That the speech of self-disclosure should be translatable seems to me very odd, but I am convinced that it is. The conclusion that I draw is that the only quality which all human being without exception possess is uniqueness: any characteristic, on the other hand, which one individual can be recognized as having in common with another, like red hair or the English language, implies the existence of other individual qualities which this classification excludes.
Nobody knows what the cause is, though some pretend they do; it like some hidden assassin waiting to strike at you. Childless women get it, and men when they retire; it as if there had to be some outlet for their foiled creative fire.
History is, strictly speaking, the study of questions; the study of answers belongs to anthropology and sociology.
Music is the best means we have of digesting time.
'Healing,' Papa would tell me, 'is not a science, but the intuitive art of wooing nature.'
The older woman's love is not love of herself, nor of herself mirrored in a lover's eyes, nor is it corrupted by need. It is a feeling of tenderness so still and deep and warm that it gilds every grass blade and blesses every fly. It includes the ones who have a claim on it, and a great deal else besides. I wouldn't have missed it for the world.
Not the bee upon the blossom, In the pride o' sunny noon; Not the little sporting fairy, All beneath the simmer moon; Not the poet, in the moment Fancy lightens in his e'e, Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture, That thy presence gi'es to me.
At first I assumed hate was the opposite of love. But it isn't. The opposite of love is indifference.
If I try to summon back his face, the sound of his voice, and the sensation in my stomach like a key turning in a lock when he touched me, I lose everything.
The course of true love never did run smooth.
It doesn't matter how old you are, there is a little child within who needs love and acceptance.
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