The former post was deleted as it violated our user agreement, or it did not add to the "Great Books" conversation in a constructive manner.
The new Copernicus Forum may be found at http://westerncanon.com/bookforums/forumdisplay.php?f=33 .
To foster quality discussion forums throughout Western Canon, from now on only registered members may post. Spam will not be tolerated. If you would like to help moderate, please contact "jolly roger ship @ yahoo . com".
Please register at http://westerncanon.com/bookforums to post in the future.
We prefer deep reflections on Philosophy, Shakespearean Sonnets, and tender musings along the lines of:
The whole of science is nothing more than a refinement of everyday thinking. --Albert Einstein
Nothing lasts except beauty--and I shall create that. -Thomas Wolfe, Letters to His Mother (1943)
It is our continuing goal to foster the world's greatest converstation.
In the future, please register and make all posts to http://westerncanon.com/bookforums,
and/or join the forums at Great Books & Philosophy Forums @ jollyrogerwest.com.
LXXV So are you to my thoughts as food to life, Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground; And for the peace of you I hold such strife As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found. Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure; Now counting best to be with you alone, Then better'd that the world may see my pleasure: Sometime all full with feasting on your sight, And by and by clean starved for a look; Possessing or pursuing no delight, Save what is had, or must from you be took. Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day, Or gluttoning on all, or all away. --William Shakespeare
All The Best,
William Einstein Shakespeare :)
IV Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend Upon thy self thy beauty's legacy? Nature's bequest gives nothing, but doth lend, And being frank she lends to those are free: Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse The bounteous largess given thee to give? Profitless usurer, why dost thou use So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live? For having traffic with thy self alone, Thou of thy self thy sweet self dost deceive: Then how when nature calls thee to be gone, What acceptable audit canst thou leave? Thy unused beauty must be tombed with thee, Which, used, lives th' executor to be. --William Shakespeare