If, for silver or for gold,
You could melt ten thousand pimples
Into half a dozen dimples,
Then your face we might behold,
Looking, doubtless, much more snugly;
Yet even then 'twould be damned ugly.
August 12, 1819.
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Writing is like making love. Don't worry about the orgasm, just concentrate on the process.
by Barbara Jane ReyesSiya ay nakatayo sa balikat ng bundok
She stands upon the mountain’s shoulders
Langit ay kulay ng ginto at dugo
Sky’s the color of gold and blood
Sumisigaw siya ¡Mira! ¡El sol!
See how the sun ...