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These forums are being phased out. The new, improved Franz Josef Haydn (1732-1809) 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 Franz Josef Haydn (1732-1809) Forum may be found at http://classicalmusicforums.com/forumdisplay.php?f=32 .
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We prefer deep reflections on Philosophy, Shakespearean Sonnets, and tender musings along the lines of:
XXII My glass shall not persuade me I am old, So long as youth and thou are of one date; But when in thee time's furrows I behold, Then look I death my days should expiate. For all that beauty that doth cover thee, Is but the seemly raiment of my heart, Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me: How can I then be elder than thou art? O! therefore love, be of thyself so wary As I, not for myself, but for thee will; Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary As tender nurse her babe from faring ill. Presume not on th;heart when mine is slain, Thou gav'st me thine not to give back again. --William Shakespeare
Not everything that counts can be counted, and not everything that can be counted counts. --Albert Einstein
It is our continuing goal to foster the world's greatest converstation regarding all higher pursuits.
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Heroism on command, senseless violence, and all the loathsome nonsense that goes by the name of patriotism -- how passionately I hate them! --Albert Einstein
All The Best,
William Einstein Shakespeare :)
XXVII Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, The dear respose for limbs with travel tir'd; But then begins a journey in my head To work my mind, when body's work's expired: For then my thoughts--from far where I abide-- Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee, And keep my drooping eyelids open wide, Looking on darkness which the blind do see: Save that my soul's imaginary sight Presents thy shadow to my sightless view, Which, like a jewel (hung in ghastly night, Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new. Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind, For thee, and for myself, no quiet find. --William Shakespeare