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These forums are being phased out. The new, improved Antonio Vivaldi (1678-1741) Forum is at classicalmusicforums.com.
The former post was deleted as it violated our user agreement, or it did not add to the "Classical Music & Art" conversation in a constructive manner.
The new Antonio Vivaldi (1678-1741) Forum may be found at http://classicalmusicforums.com/forumdisplay.php?f=22 .
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We prefer deep reflections on Philosophy, Shakespearean Sonnets, and tender musings along the lines of:
Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the the universe. --Albert Einstein
XIV Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck; And yet methinks I have astronomy, But not to tell of good or evil luck, Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality; Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell, Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind, Or say with princes if it shall go well By oft predict that I in heaven find: But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive, And constant stars in them I read such art As 'Truth and beauty shall together thrive, If from thyself, to store thou wouldst convert'; Or else of thee this I prognosticate: 'Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.' XV When I consider every thing that grows Holds in perfection but a little moment, That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows Whereon the stars in secret influence comment; When I perceive that men as plants increase, Cheered and checked even by the self-same sky, Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease, And wear their brave state out of memory; Then the conceit of this inconstant stay Sets you most rich in youth before my sight, Where wasteful Time debateth with decay To change your day of youth to sullied night, And all in war with Time for love of you, As he takes from you, I engraft you new. --William Shakespeare
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Education is what remains after one has forgotten everything he learned in school. --Albert Einstein
All The Best,
William Einstein Shakespeare :)
LXXXI Or I shall live your epitaph to make, Or you survive when I in earth am rotten; From hence your memory death cannot take, Although in me each part will be forgotten. Your name from hence immortal life shall have, Though I, once gone, to all the world must die: The earth can yield me but a common grave, When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie. Your monument shall be my gentle verse, Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read; And tongues to be, your being shall rehearse, When all the breathers of this world are dead; You still shall live,--such virtue hath my pen,-- Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men. --William Shakespeare