I tried to avoid it, but my boots had evidently been made for walking, not sprinting on dusty tile. Jim Butcher.

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There’s Only The Two Of Us Here


I camped one night in an empty hut on the side of a lonely hill.

I didn’t go much on empty huts, but the night was awful chill.

So I boiled me billy and had me tea and seen that the door was shut.

Then I went to bed in am empty bunk by the side of the old slab shed.


It must have been about twelve o’clock – I was feeling cosy and warm –

When at the foot of me bunk I sees a horrible ghostly form

It seemed in shape to be half an ape with a head like a chimpanzee

But wot the hell was it doin there, and wot did it want with me?


You may say if you please that I had DTs or call me a crimson liar,

But I wish you had seen it as plain as me, with it’s eyes like coals of fire.

Then it gave a moan and a horrible groan that curdled me blood with fear,

And ‘There’s only the two of us here,’ it ses.  ‘There’s only the two of us here!’


I kept one eye on the old hut door and one on the awful brute;

I only wanted to dress meself and get to the door and scoot.

But I couldn’t find where I’d left me boots so I hadn’t a chance to clear

And, ‘There’s only the two of us here,’ it moans.  ‘There’s only the two of us here!’


I hadn’t a thing to defend meself, not even a stick or stone,

And ‘There’s only the two of here!’  It ses again with a horrible groan.

I thought I’d better make some reply, though I reckoned me end was near,

‘By the Holy Smoke, when I find me boots, there’ll be only one of us here.’


I get me hands on me number tens and out through the door I scoots,

And I lit the whole of the ridges up with the sparks from me blucher boots.

So I’ve never slept in a hut since then, and I tremble and shake with fear

When I think of the horrible form wot moaned, ‘There’s only the two of us here!’

Edward Harrington


Sylvia had all the time there was, and very little use to make of it.


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(By Jean Hobler, Hinemoa, 8 Lennox street.)
A little kingfisher so merry and gay.
Went out in search of some food one
He brought back a worm and also a fish,
Which his wife and chicks thought quite
a nice dish.
He sat on a bough and shared the food’
And each of the babies dropped some
on the ground.
But when they had finished they all
went to sleep
And never woke once till the sun up
did peep.
1928 ‘THE KINGFISHER.’, Morning Bulletin (Rockhampton, Qld. : 1878 – 1954), 8 June, p. 13. , viewed 30 Jun 2016, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article54624851

Les grands voleurs pendent les petits

  • Men are like fish, the big ones devour the small.
  • “A weak person/group/community/country can be an easy prey to an immoral, powerful one.”
  • Strauss, Emanuel (1994)

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Anglers have a way of romanticizing their battles with Fish and of forgetting that the Fish has a hook in his mouth, his gullet, or his belly and that his gameness is really an extreme of panic in which he runs, leaps, and pulls to get away until he dies. It would seem to be enough advantage to the angler that the Fish has the hook in his mouth rather than the angler.

Ernest Hemingway, introduction to S. Kip Farrington Jr., Atlantic Game Fishing (1937)
Read more at http://quotes.yourdictionary.com/fish#UR7YSJzoqGJ6roFt.99

I cannot accurately convey the efficiency of heroin in neutralising pain. It transforms a tight white fist into a gentle brown wave, and from my first inhalation 15 years ago it fumigated my private hell. A bathroom floor in Hackney embraced me like a womb, and now whenever I am dislodged from comfort my focus falls there. Russell Brand

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And then there was Williams’ well-documented addiction to cocaine.

“There’d be those nights when you do cocaine and you’d be like, ‘I’M GONNA DIE! I’M GONNA DIE! I’M GONNA DIE!’,” he said in one interview. “And then you’d wake up the next morning: ‘I didn’t die! Let’s try it again.’ ”

The heart is but the beach beside the sea that is the world.


“For your answer, you must hear a minimalist composition performed by the wind, watch the dolphins play in moonlight, and listen to the whales singing as you are rocked to sleep by the sea. If this happens to you once, you are still fit material for human company. If it happens to you every night for several years, you can visit the people who live on land, but you will not belong to them ever again.”

— February 5, 1991, Paul Lutus, Confessions of a Long Distance Sailor

`A`ohe loa i ka hana a ke aloha. Distance is ignored by love.

E hele ka `elemakule, ka luahine,
a me na kamali`i a moe i ke ala
`a`ohe mea nana e ho`opilikia.

Let the old men, the old women, and the children go
and sleep on the wayside; let them not be molested.

The Law of the Splintered Paddle,
King Kamehameha I.


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“It takes away a lot of the thrill of killing yourself when people are looking for you and you’re disappointing them, because it is a lot of fun when you’re out there killing yourself.” ― Anthony Kiedis, Scar Tissue

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Addiction quote: “It will hurt. It will take time. It will require dedication, willpower and sacrifice. You will need to push your body to its max. There will be temptation. But I promise, it’s worth it.”

Comes a scout in silence flying, One white cockatoo.

Comes a scout in silence flying,
One white cockatoo.
Back he goes to where the meeting
Waits among the trees.
Says, “The corn is fit for eating;
Hurry, if you please.”

Banjo Patterson


The cockatoo, a while freed from his cage,
If maimed wing allows, or tethering chain.
Climbs on the fence that overlooks the lane;
Or hobbled on his rusty iron stage
Glares round the yard And yet his heritage
Was mountain height illimitable and plain,
A whole wide continent was his domain
Who views a shrunken world In silent rage.
Sometimes to bitter fate he seems resigned,
And gabbles phrases of his captors speech,
But soon despair once more overclouds his
He calls, as though the gods he would beseech
For pity on his fallen state, with screech
He calls imprecations on all human-kind
1932 ‘THE CAPTIVE COCKATOO.’, The Sydney Morning Herald (NSW : 1842 – 1954), 13 February, p. 9. , viewed 23 Jun 2016, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article16840685

I like actors that are good with pantomime and that can transmit a lot by their presence and attitude more than through their dialogue. (Guillermo del Toro)

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“A magician creates magic and mesmerizes the audience. But it is a pantomime, and the audience knows that it’s a ruse. It’s in the name: a “magic trick”. They play along when the magician tugs his sleeves to show there is nothing hidden within them, or that the top hat is empty of a rabbit, or eggs, or flowers. Beneath the façade there is only sleight of hand, wires and contraptions, misdirection at a key moment.
“But what the audience does not realize is that it’s not always trickery. Or at least, not quite.”

― Laura Lam, Shadowplay

“I like The Eiffel Tower because it looks like steel and lace.” Natalie Lloyd

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for Robert Delaunay

Tour Eiffel
Guitare du ciel
Guitar of the sky

Attracting words
to your telegraphy
like a rosebush its bees

At night
the Seine stops flowing

Telescope or bugle


It’s a hive of words
an inkwell of honey

At the end of dawn
a spider with wire legs
spun a web of clouds

My boy
to climb the Eiffel Tower
you climb up on a song


Nous sommes en haut
We’re at the top

A bird sings                                         It’s the wind
in the telegraph                                    of Europe
antennas                                             the electric wind

Hats fly off
They have wings but can’t sing

Daughter of France
What do you see up there?

The Seine’s asleep
under the shadow of its bridges

I can see the Earth turning
and I blow my bugle
to all the seas

On the road
of your perfume
all the bees and all the words take off

On the four horizons
who hasn’t heard this song


That’s how the Tower spoke to me one day

Eiffel Tower
Aviary of the world
Sing                             Sing

Bell-clang of Paris

The giant hanging in the void
is a poster for France

On the day of Victory

Chilean poet Vicente Huidobro (1893–1948)

Eiffel Tower

I want to weep, she thought. I want to be comforted. I’m so tired of being strong. I want to be foolish and frightened for once. Just for a small while, that’s all … a day … an hour. Catelyn’s thoughts

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“If you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun.”– Katharine Hepburn

Read more: http://www.keepinspiring.me/inspirational-quotes-for-women/#ixzz4COvZmVQz

“I began to understand that all of life is practice: writing, driving, hiking, brushing teeth, packing lunch boxes, making beds, cooking dinner, making love, walking dogs, even sleeping. We are always practicing. Only practicing.” —Dani Shapiro

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Raymond ‘Red’ Reddington:

…on a sailboat, surrounded by sea with no land in sight, without even the possibility of sighting land for days to come? To stand at the helm of your destiny. I want that, one more time. I want to be in the Piazza del Campo in Siena. To feel the surge as 10 racehorses go thundering by. I want another meal in Paris, at L’Ambroisie, at the Place des Vosges. I want another bottle of wine. And then another. I want the warmth of a woman and a cool set of sheets. One more night of jazz at the Vanguard. I want to stand on the summits and smoke Cubans and feel the sun on my face for as long as I can. Walk on the Wall again. Climb the Tower. Ride the River. Stare at the Frescos. I want to sit in the garden and read one more good book. Most of all I want to sleep. I want to sleep like I slept when I was a boy. Give me that, just one time. That’s why I won’t allow that punk out there to get the best of me, let alone the last of me.

though I cannot promise to take you home,” said North Wind, as she sank nearer and nearer to the tops of the houses, “I can promise you it will be all right in the end. You will get home somehow.”

― George MacDonald, At the Back of the North Wind

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“The very first step towards action is the death warrant of doubt.”

George MacDonald

“When I use a word,’ Humpty Dumpty said in rather a scornful tone, ‘it means just what I choose it to mean — neither more nor less.’ Lewis Carroll

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So she got up, and held out her hand. ‘Good-bye, till we meet again!’ she said as cheerfully as she could.

‘I shouldn’t know you again if we did meet,’ Humpty Dumpty replied in a discontented tone, giving her one of his fingers to shake; ‘you’re so exactly like other people.’

‘The face is what one goes by, generally,’ Alice remarked in a thoughtful tone.

‘That’s just what I complain of,’ said Humpty Dumpty. ‘Your face is the same as everybody has — the two eyes, so —’ (marking their places in the air with this thumb) ‘nose in the middle, mouth under. It’s always the same. Now if you had the two eyes on the same side of the nose, for instance — or the mouth at the top — that would be some help.’

‘It wouldn’t look nice,’ Alice objected. But Humpty Dumpty only shut his eyes and said ‘Wait till you’ve tried.’

Who am I finally? I am the instigator of crime I am ruin and sorrow I am shame I am dishonour I am death I am Absinthe”

Marie Corelli, 1855 – 1924

The following are all excerpts from the book “Wormwood; A Drama of Paris” (1890).

I am the green fairy

“I am the green Fairy
My robe is the color of despair
I have nothing in common with the fairies of the past
What I need is blood, red and hot,
The palpitating flesh of my victims
Alone, I will kill France, the present is dead,
Vive the future…
But me, I kill the future and in family I destroy
The love of country, courage, honor,
I am the purveyor of hell, penitentiaries, hospitals.
Who am I finally?
I am the instigator of crime
I am ruin and sorrow
I am shame
I am dishonor
I am death
I am Absinthe”

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Antonin Artaud, 1896 – 1948

In the early 1920’s Antonin Artaud was very much influenced by the great French poets Verlaine, Mallarmé and Rimbaud. The poem Verlaine Boit was published in 1921. Between 1926-1928 Artaud also ran the Alfred Jarry theatre where he directed plays by, among others, August Strindberg. Below are both the original poem in French and an English translation.

Verlaine Boit

“Il y aura toujours des grues au coin des rues,
Coquillages perdus sue les grèves stellaires
Du soir bleu qui n’est pas d’ici ni de la terre,
Où roulent des cabs aux élytres éperdues.

Et roulent moins que dans ma tête confondue
La pierre verte de l’absinthe au fond du verre,
Où je bois la perdition et les tonnerres
A venir du Seigneur pour calciner mon âme nue.

Ah! Qu’ils tournent les fuseaux mêles des rues
Et filent l’entrelacs des hommes et des femmes
Ainsi qu’une araignée qui tisserait sa trame
Avec les filaments des âmes reconnues.”

Verlaine Drinks (English translation of Verlaine Boit)

“There will always be whores on street corners,
Lost shells stranded on the stellar shores
Of a blue dusk which belongs neither here nor on earth
Where taxis roll by like bewildered beetles.

But they roll less than in my whirling head
The green gem of absinthe deep in the glass
Where I drink perdition and the thunder
Of the Lord’s judgement to roast my naked soul.

Ah! How the tangled spindles of the streets
Turn and spin the fabric of men and women,
As if a spider were weaving her web.
With the filaments of uncovered souls.”