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I’m allowed to comment on all of these but 614.
Repost: viewtopic.php?f=1&t=171134&p=2128888&hilit=+618#p2128888
You can comment on any of them you want. I have just emerged from a four day attack of neuralgia, I have no will left to argue.
You should get that checked out.
[size=85]553. For the hungry man, “a drop of honey is loathsome in its own deliciousness, and by the taste confounds the appetite.” 1 Thus a poet will never think of admiting the hungry man to his poems-- for he desires to be lived on, not merely tasted of.
- Shakespeare[/size]
I weigh 205, are you sure you want me living on you?
Brilliant work Ascolo! I’d like to learn more about you… 
[size=85]332. The artistes infanntes.–
Nam iracundiam & cupidenem vini, sicuti juventa irritaverat, ita senectus mitigare potusisset. –
Erycius Puteanus in Suada Attica Orationum. Page 390]
“Why should the wine of youth not sweeten with the years?”
In the end we can never possess our beloved but always only our love. Even the child-artist to whom the hand of a woman has never befallen can still cultivate in himself, as he usually does, even in remarkable phases of youth and simple childhood-- true and intense sensations of love, whose object may be however remote or imaginary; even as these stages in life may be usually reserved, not in the flowering and yielding of fruit, but in the development of the root and stalk of the tree of passion. Even more remarkable is the fact that delight in these sensations soon becomes a second nature in him, which swallows and condemns the l’ amour courtois and first nature, namely, that he take as his supreme banner of victory- a woman.
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Maternal hypochondria.-- Genius often finds itself unable to recognize its own child, and so becomes impregnated a second time, so that by giving birth again it can make sure that it had borne the first child from its womb.
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In praise of pain.-- Long, drawn out pain tends to quicken our speaking, focus us on what is closest and, in short, trim away all the fat in a man’s character. But what if one is nothing but ‘fat?’
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Bete noire.-- Poets and beautifiers of every kind despise women as the faithful despise martyrs: for in either case, art cannot replace that which our nature was not disposed to give.
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He who flirts briefly with the passions shall always imagine, when by mere fortuity he meets with one of them for a second time, that his whole inner constitution in the first instance, which he has undoubtedly come to associate out of his naivete with the birth of the passion itself, has also returned to him again- and what pleasure is there in homecoming!
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Beneath the name.-- Cynicism does not really despise that ugliness which it casts away in a man, but rather what is made ugly in casting the man away.
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Of the mordacious.-- When the limb of that quick-footed salamander has been bitten, or in any case still suffers of a wound, it shall itself seize upon it with its teeth, to see to it that it is completely done away with; only so that a new one might grow in its place with the highest expedience. In the language of the haughty, intellectual, Pascalian conscience: envy.
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The fruits upon the tree of life, though they assuage man with a supple relish even as they quell hunger, do not satisfy us eternally. One must keep returning to that garden in paradise, harvesting more fruits and again harvesting more, and then again consuming them. The fruits upon the tree of knowledge, though they are very bitter, quell hunger forever, once they are consumed but once.[/size]
[size=150]Tacent, satis laudant. [/size]
Why do you want to be praised?