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He forgets himself.

Latin proverbs
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Sometimes She Forgets

If you see her out tonight
And she tells you that it's just the lights
That bring her here and not her loneliness
That's what she says but sometimes she forgets
If she tells you she don't need a man
She's had all the comfort she can stand
You best believe every word she says
But don't give up 'cause sometimes she forgets
And sometimes she forgets that not too long ago she swore
She wasn't gonna let her heart be broken anymore
So now she keeps it locked away
And it grows colder everyday
And it won't warm to any man's caress
That's what she says but sometimes she forgets
And sometimes she forgets that not too long ago she swore
She wasn't gonna let her heart be broken anymore
If you see her out tonight
And she tells you that it's just the lights
That bring her here and not her loneliness
That's what she says but sometimes she forgets
Yeah, that's what she says, but sometimes she forgets
So don't you dare give up 'cause sometimes she forgets

song performed by Travis Tritt
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Dream With You

(doug hopkins? )
? lays in the dark all day
She waits for the sun to go down
And in her novel we appear
To change her moods around
Well she forgets you now
Well she forgets you now
And girls like that they own the world
Theyll sell you what you need
On languid streets you search for her so ? in her sleep
Well she leads you on
Well she leads you on
Dream with you
Well she could only dream with you
And the distance keeps her warm
Her letters talk of things shes seen
Her silence what shes learned
Reminsce and drink with them
To hasten her return
Well she forgets you now
Well she forgets you now
Well she forgets you now
Well she forgets you now
Dream with you
Well she could only
And the distance keeps her warm
Dream with you
Well she could only
And the distance keeps her warm
Dream with you...

song performed by Gin Blossoms
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Félise

WHAT shall be said between us here
Among the downs, between the trees,
In fields that knew our feet last year,
In sight of quiet sands and seas,
This year, Félise?

Who knows what word were best to say?
For last year’s leaves lie dead and red
On this sweet day, in this green May,
And barren corn makes bitter bread.
What shall be said?

Here as last year the fields begin,
A fire of flowers and glowing grass;
The old fields we laughed and lingered in,
Seeing each our souls in last year’s glass,
Félise, alas!

Shall we not laugh, shall we not weep,
Not we, though this be as it is?
For love awake or love asleep
Ends in a laugh, a dream, a kiss,
A song like this.

I that have slept awake, and you
Sleep, who last year were well awake.
Though love do all that love can do,
My heart will never ache or break
For your heart’s sake.

The great sea, faultless as a flower,
Throbs, trembling under beam and breeze,
And laughs with love of the amorous hour.
I found you fairer once, Félise,
Than flowers or seas.

We played at bondsman and at queen;
But as the days change men change too;
I find the grey sea’s notes of green,
The green sea’s fervent flakes of blue,
More fair than you.

Your beauty is not over fair
Now in mine eyes, who am grown up wise.
The smell of flowers in all your hair
Allures not now; no sigh replies
If your heart sighs.

But you sigh seldom, you sleep sound,
You find love’s new name good enough.

[...] Read more

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Rock And Roll Never Forgets

by Bob Seger
So you're a little bit older and a lot less bolder
Than you used to be
So you used to shake 'em down
But now you stop and think about your dignity
So now sweet sixteens turned thirty-one
You get to feelin' weary when the work days done
Well all you got to do is get up and into your kicks
If you're in a fix
Come back baby
Rock and roll never forgets
You better get yourself a partner
Go down to the concert or the local bar
Check the local newspapers
Chances are you won't have to go too far
Yeah the rafters will be ringing cause the beat's so strong
The crowd will be swaying and singing along
And all you got to do is get in into the mix
If you need a fix
Come back baby
Rock and roll never forgets
Oh the bands still playing it loud and lean
Listen to the guitar player making it scream
All you got to do is just make that scene tonight
Heh tonight
Well now sweet sixteens turned thirty-one
Feel a little tired feeling under the gun
Well all Chuck's children are out there playing his licks
Get into your kicks
Come back baby
Rock 'n Roll never forgets
Said you can come back baby
Rock 'n Roll never forgets

song performed by Bob Seger
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No Matter How Old or Young

A mother forgives
A mother forgets.
No matter
How old
Or how young
She forgives
She forgets.

A mother forgives
A mother forgets.
She is always there.
No matter
How old
Or how young
She is always there.

A mother forgives
A mother forgets
A mother is always there.
A mother protects her young.
No matter
How old
Or how young
She always protects her young.

poem by Athena Goddess of Wisdom Lumis Light to all
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Rock & Roll Never Forgets

Words and music by bob seger
So youre a little bit older and a lot less bolder
Than you used to be
So you used to shake em down
But now you stop and think about your dignity
So now sweet sixteens turned thirty-one
You get to feelin weary when the work days done
Well all you got to do is get up and into your kicks
If youre in a fix
Come back baby
Rock and roll never forgets
You better get yourself a partner
Go down to the concert or the local bar
Check the local newspapers
Chances are you wont have to go too far
Yeah the rafters will be ringing cause the beats so strong
The crowd will be swaying and singing along
And all you got to do is get in into the mix
If you need a fix
Come back baby
Rock and roll never forgets
Oh the bands still playing it loud and lean
Listen to the guitar player making it scream
All you got to do is just make that scene tonight
Heh tonight
Well now sweet sixteens turned thirty-one
Feel a little tired feeling under the gun
Well all chucks children are out there playing his licks
Get into your kicks
Come back baby
Rock n roll never forgets
Said you can come back baby
Rock n roll never forgets

song performed by Bob Seger
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Political Scientist

He is drinking water from the faucet from the river
From the tributary it comes through rusted pipes
Outside his window he sees the water that's supposed to be clean
By the chemicals polluted by the candy factory lines
Someplace on the edge of town
Someplace on the edge of town
Is where they live --
Political scientists
So now she is crawling on her hands and her knees
She is dirtying her jeans choking on her own perfume
With a pen she writes below the sink in someone's restaurant
This place is inconvenient for my name
She forgets to write it anyway
She forgets to write it anyway
The government supplies the cocaine
Political scientists
There's no guarantees
There's no guarantees
There's no guarantees
Banging hard upon a crooked drum
She feels them tearing down Salvation Army houses back in Michigan
Her husband's divorced but he treats her that way of course
Because he needs her just like he needs medicine
She forgets to write him anyway
She forgets to write him anyway
What's red and white and nearly over
Political scientist
Political scientist
Political scientist
There's no guarantees
There's no guarantees
There's no guarantees

song performed by Ryan Adams
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The Campaign, A Poem, To His Grace The Duke Of Marlborough

While crowds of princes your deserts proclaim,
Proud in their number to enrol your name;
While emperors to you commit their cause,
And Anna's praises crown the vast applause;
Accept, great leader, what the Muse recites,
That in ambitious verse attempts your fights.
Fir'd and transported with a theme so new,
Ten thousand wonders opening to my view
Shine forth at once; sieges and storms appear,
And wars and conquests fill the' important year:

Rivers of blood I see, and hills of slain,
And Iliad rising out of one campaign.
The haughty Gaul beheld, with towering pride,
His ancient bounds enlarg'd on every side;
Pyrene's lofty barriers were subdued,
And in the midst of his wide empire stood;
Ausonia's states, the victor to restrain,
Opposed their Alps and Apennines in vain,
Nor found themselves, with strength of rocks immur'd,
Behind their everlasting hills secur'd;

The rising Danube its long race began,
And half its course through the new conquests ran;
Amaz'd and anxious for her soverign's fates,
Germania trembled through a hundred states;
Great Leopold himself was seiz'd with fear;
He gaz'd around, but saw no succour near;
He gaz'd, and half-abandon'd to despair.
His hopes on heaven, and confidence in pray;
To Britain's queen the nations turn their eyes,
On her resolves the western world relies,

Confiding still, amidst its dire alarms,
In Anna's conncils, and in Churchill's arms.
Thrice happy Britain, from the kingdoms rent,
To fit the guardian of the continent!
That sees her bravest son advanc'd so high,
And flourishing so near her prince's eye;
Thy favourites grow not up by fortune's sport,
Or from the crimes or follies of a court;
On the firm basis of desert they rise,
From long-try'd faith and friendship's holy tyes:

Their soverign's well-distinguish'd smiles they share,
Her ornaments in peace, her strength in war;
The nation thanks them with a public voice,
By showers of blessings heaven approves their choice;
Envy itself is dumb, in wonder lost,
And factions strive who shall applaud them most.

[...] Read more

poem by Joseph Addison
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There are three signs of senility. The first sign is that a man forgets his theorems. The second sign is that he forgets to zip up. The third sign is that he forgets to zip down.

quote by Paul Erdos
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Sleep well

A trade man fails to sleep;
An artist forgets to sleep;
An enemy fears to sleep;
Be content to sleep well.

An insane fail to think;
A criminal forgets to think;
A debtor fears to think.
Be calm to think well.

A blind fails to see;
An idiot forgets to see;
A lazy one shelves to see.
Be open to see well.
05.01.2010
[ inspired by a tamil verse written by m/s T. Shanmugapriya, B.Com. I year, Muthayamma Arts College, Rasipuram, Tamil Nadu ]

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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All This Time

(tim james/steve mcclintock)
All this time
I knew someday youd need to find
Something that you left behind
Something I cant give you
All these tears
And like alight love disappears
But hearts are good for souvenirs
And memories are forever
All this time
All in all Ive no regrets
The sun still shines the sun still sets
The heart forgives the heart forgets
But what will I do now with all this time
One more kiss
Even though its come to this
Ill close my eyes and make a wish
Hoping you remember
All this time
All in all Ive no regrets
The sun still shines the sun still sets
The heart forgives the heart forgets
But what will I do now with all this time
Say goodbye
Apart well make another try
But dont be sorry if you cry
Ill be crying too
All this time
All in all Ive no regrets
The sun still shines the sun still sets
The heart forgives the heart forgets
But what will I do now with all this time

song performed by Tiffany
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Canto the Second

I.

Come, blue-eyed maid of heaven! - but thou, alas,
Didst never yet one mortal song inspire -
Goddess of Wisdom! here thy temple was,
And is, despite of war and wasting fire,
And years, that bade thy worship to expire:
But worse than steel, and flame, and ages slow,
Is the drear sceptre and dominion dire
Of men who never felt the sacred glow
That thoughts of thee and thine on polished breasts bestow.

II.

Ancient of days! august Athena! where,
Where are thy men of might, thy grand in soul?
Gone - glimmering through the dream of things that were:
First in the race that led to Glory’s goal,
They won, and passed away - is this the whole?
A schoolboy’s tale, the wonder of an hour!
The warrior’s weapon and the sophist’s stole
Are sought in vain, and o’er each mouldering tower,
Dim with the mist of years, grey flits the shade of power.

III.

Son of the morning, rise! approach you here!
Come - but molest not yon defenceless urn!
Look on this spot - a nation’s sepulchre!
Abode of gods, whose shrines no longer burn.
E’en gods must yield - religions take their turn:
’Twas Jove’s - ’tis Mahomet’s; and other creeds
Will rise with other years, till man shall learn
Vainly his incense soars, his victim bleeds;
Poor child of Doubt and Death, whose hope is built on reeds.

IV.

Bound to the earth, he lifts his eyes to heaven -
Is’t not enough, unhappy thing, to know
Thou art? Is this a boon so kindly given,
That being, thou wouldst be again, and go,
Thou know’st not, reck’st not to what region, so
On earth no more, but mingled with the skies!
Still wilt thou dream on future joy and woe?
Regard and weigh yon dust before it flies:
That little urn saith more than thousand homilies.

V.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (1818)
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A Last Confession

Our Lombard country-girls along the coast
Wear daggers in their garters: for they know
That they might hate another girl to death
Or meet a German lover. Such a knife
I bought her, with a hilt of horn and pearl.
Father, you cannot know of all my thoughts
That day in going to meet her,—that last day
For the last time, she said;—of all the love
And all the hopeless hope that she might change
And go back with me. Ah! and everywhere,
At places we both knew along the road,
Some fresh shape of herself as once she was
Grew present at my side; until it seemed—
So close they gathered round me—they would all
Be with me when I reached the spot at last,
To plead my cause with her against herself
So changed. O Father, if you knew all this
You cannot know, then you would know too, Father,
And only then, if God can pardon me.
What can be told I'll tell, if you will hear.
I passed a village-fair upon my road,
And thought, being empty-handed, I would take
Some little present: such might prove, I said,
Either a pledge between us, or (God help me!)
A parting gift. And there it was I bought
The knife I spoke of, such as women wear.
That day, some three hours afterwards, I found
For certain, it must be a parting gift.
And, standing silent now at last, I looked
Into her scornful face; and heard the sea
Still trying hard to din into my ears
Some speech it knew which still might change her heart,
If only it could make me understand.
One moment thus. Another, and her face
Seemed further off than the last line of sea,
So that I thought, if now she were to speak
I could not hear her. Then again I knew
All, as we stood together on the sand
At Iglio, in the first thin shade o' the hills.
“Take it,” I said, and held it out to her,
While the hilt glanced within my trembling hold;
“Take it and keep it for my sake,” I said.
Her neck unbent not, neither did her eyes
Move, nor her foot left beating of the sand;
Only she put it by from her and laughed.
Father, you hear my speech and not her laugh;
But God heard that. Will God remember all?
It was another laugh than the sweet sound
Which rose from her sweet childish heart, that day
Eleven years before, when first I found her

[...] Read more

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt. Canto II.

I.
Come, blue-eyed maid of heaven!-but thou, alas!
Didst never yet one mortal song inspire-
Goddess of Wisdom! here thy temple was,
And is, despite of war and wasting fire,
And years, that bade thy worship to expire:
But worse than steel, and flame, and ages slow,
Is the dread sceptre and dominion dire
Of men who never felt the sacred glow
That thoughts of thee and thine on polish'd breasts bestow.

II.
Ancient of days! august Athena! where,
Where are thy men of might? thy grand in soul?
Gone-glimmering through the dream of things that were:
First in the race that led to Glory's goal,
They won, and pass'd away-is this the whole?
A school-boy's tale, the wonder of an hour!
The warrior's weapon and the sophist's stole
Are sought in vain, and o'er each mouldering tower,
Dim with the mist of years, grey flits the shade of power.

III.
Son of the morning, rise! approach you here!
Come-but molest not yon defenceless urn:
Look on this spot-a nation's sepulchre!
Abode of gods, whose shrines no longer burn.
Even gods must yield-religions take their turn:
'Twas Jove's--2tis Mahomet's-and other creeds
Will rise with other years, till man shall learn
Vainly his incense soars, his victim bleeds;
Poor child of Doubt and Death, whose hope is built on reeds.

IV.
Bound to the earth, he lifts his eye to heaven-
Is't not enough, unhappy thing! to know
Thou art? Is this a boon so kindly given,
That being, thou wouldst be again, and go,
Thou know'st not, reck'st not to what region, so
On earth no more, but mingled with the skies?
Still wilt thou dream on future joy and woe?
Regard and weigh yon dust before it flies:
That little urn saith more than thousand homilies.

V.
Or burst the vanish'd Hero's lofty mound;
Far on the solitary shore he sleeps:
He fell, and falling nations mourn'd around;
But now not one of saddening thousands weeps,
Nor warlike-worshipper his vigil keeps

[...] Read more

poem by Byron
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The Barrel-Organ

There's a barrel-organ carolling across a golden street
In the City as the sun sinks low;
And the music's not immortal; but the world has made it sweet
And fulfilled it with the sunset glow;
And it pulses through the pleasures of the City and the pain
That surround the singing organ like a large eternal light;
And they've given it a glory and a part to play again
In the Symphony that rules the day and night.

And now it's marching onward through the realms of old romance,
And trolling out a fond familiar tune,
And now it's roaring cannon down to fight the King of France,
And now it's prattling softly to the moon.
And all around the organ there's a sea without a shore
Of human joys and wonders and regrets;
To remember and to recompense the music evermore
For what the cold machinery forgets...

Yes; as the music changes,
Like a prismatic glass,
It takes the light and ranges
Through all the moods that pass;
Dissects the common carnival
Of passions and regrets,
And gives the world a glimpse of all
The colours it forgets.

And there La Traviata sighs
Another sadder song;
And there Il Trovatore cries
A tale of deeper wrong;
And bolder knights to battle go
With sword and shield and lance,
Than ever here on earth below
Have whirled into--a dance!--

Go down to Kew in lilac-time, in lilac-time, in lilac-time;
Go down to Kew in lilac-time (it isn't far from London!)
And you shall wander hand in hand with love in summer's wonderland;
Go down to Kew in lilac-time (it isn't far from London!)

The cherry-trees are seas of bloom and soft perfume and sweet perfume,
The cherry-trees are seas of bloom (and oh, so near to London!)
And there they say, when dawn is high and all the world's a blaze of sky
The cuckoo, though he's very shy, will sing a song for London.

The nightingale is rather rare and yet they say you'll hear him there
At Kew, at Kew in lilac-time (and oh, so near to London!)
The linnet and the throstle, too, and after dark the long halloo
And golden-eyed tu-whit, tu-whoo of owls that ogle London.

[...] Read more

poem by Alfred Noyes
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In Praise of Mandragora

O, MANDRAGORA, many sing in praise
Of life, and death, and immortality,--
Of passion, that goes famished all her days,--
Of Faith, or fantasy;
Thou, all unpraised, unsung, I make this rhyme to thee.

The womby underworlds thy roots enclose,
In human shape, sprung from abhorrent seed;
But when through crumbling roof the daylight shows,
And thou my breast hast freed
Thou growest in the field as any flower or weed.

At many a cross-road bare thy leaves protrude,
Upon the brow of lonely, moon-blanched heath,
And from a loathly breast thou draggest food,
That moulders far beneath . . .
Whereon a crazy moon stares out and bares her teeth.

And sometimes, in the purblind face of morn
The stealthy hinds slink out to gather thee,
Then shudder, as thy shrieking roots are torn,
And turn at last, and flee,
Leaving a slimy pulp that bleedeth suddenly.

Ah!--well thou mayest shriek, for he who lies
In clotted earth, with stones upon his breast,
Feareth a victim who drags out his eyes
In vengeance deadliest,
While to thy loosened feet his screaming mouth is pressed!

O mystic one, thou hast a couch more dread
Than Isabella's Basil ever knew;--
Whose petals on gentle brow were fed,
Whose leaves in fragrance grew,
That Death, in sorrowful amend, made sweet with dew.

O Mandragora, though thy features dwell
Beneath the earth in such ill company
Far sweeter than that plant to Isabel,
Thy blossoms are to me.
Thou Root of dreamless sleep, take this in praise of thee!

Close thou Pandora's casket by whose aid
That goddess Discord queens the escapèd woes,
She had no power to hinder or dissuade,
Yet Mandragora shows
A hope uncabined, and a peace that conquers those!

From the Nepenthe doth her pitcher fill,
That barters with the merchandise of grief,

[...] Read more

poem by Muriel Stuart
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A Rhymed Lesson (Urania)

Yes, dear Enchantress,—­wandering far and long,
In realms unperfumed by the breath of song,
Where flowers ill-flavored shed their sweets around,
And bitterest roots invade the ungenial ground,
Whose gems are crystals from the Epsom mine,
Whose vineyards flow with antimonial wine,
Whose gates admit no mirthful feature in,
Save one gaunt mocker, the Sardonic grin,
Whose pangs are real, not the woes of rhyme
That blue-eyed misses warble out of time;—­
Truant, not recreant to thy sacred claim,
Older by reckoning, but in heart the same,
Freed for a moment from the chains of toil,
I tread once more thy consecrated soil;
Here at thy feet my old allegiance own,
Thy subject still, and loyal to thy throne!

My dazzled glance explores the crowded hall;
Alas, how vain to hope the smiles of all!
I know my audience. All the gay and young
Love the light antics of a playful tongue;
And these, remembering some expansive line
My lips let loose among the nuts and wine,
Are all impatience till the opening pun
Proclaims the witty shamfight is begun.
Two fifths at least, if not the total half,
Have come infuriate for an earthquake laugh;
I know full well what alderman has tied
His red bandanna tight about his side;
I see the mother, who, aware that boys
Perform their laughter with superfluous noise,
Beside her kerchief brought an extra one
To stop the explosions of her bursting son;
I know a tailor, once a friend of mine,
Expects great doings in the button line,—­
For mirth’s concussions rip the outward case,
And plant the stitches in a tenderer place.
I know my audience,—­these shall have their due;
A smile awaits them ere my song is through!

I know myself. Not servile for applause,
My Muse permits no deprecating clause;
Modest or vain, she will not be denied
One bold confession due to honest pride;
And well she knows the drooping veil of song
Shall save her boldness from the caviller’s wrong.
Her sweeter voice the Heavenly Maid imparts
To tell the secrets of our aching hearts
For this, a suppliant, captive, prostrate, bound,
She kneels imploring at the feet of sound;

[...] Read more

poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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The Men That Don't Fit In

There's a race of men that don't fit in,
A race that can't stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and they rove the flood,
And they climb the mountain's crest;
Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,
And they don't know how to rest.

If they just went straight they might go far;
They are strong and brave and true;
But they're always tired of the things that are,
And they want the strange and new.
They say: "Could I find my proper groove,
What a deep mark I would make!"
So they chop and change, and each fresh move
Is only a fresh mistake.

And each forgets, as he strips and runs
With a brilliant, fitful pace,
It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones
Who win in the lifelong race.
And each forgets that his youth has fled,
Forgets that his prime is past,
Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead,
In the glare of the truth at last.

He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance;
He has just done things by half.
Life's been a jolly good joke on him,
And now is the time to laugh.
Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost;
He was never meant to win;
He's a rolling stone, and it's bred in the bone;
He's a man who won't fit in.

poem by Robert William Service
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A Wife's Grief Because Of Her Husband's Absence

The falcon swiftly seeks the north,
And forest gloom that sent it forth.
Since I no more my husband see,
My heart from grief is never free.
O how is it, I long to know,
That he, my lord, forgets me so?

Bushy oaks on the mountain grow,
And six elms where the ground is low.
But I, my husband seen no more,
My sad and joyless fate deplore.
O how is it, I long to know,
That he, my lord, forgets me so?

The hills the bushy wild plums show,
And pear-trees grace the ground below.
But, with my husband from me gone,
As drunk with grief, I dwell alone.
O how is it, I long to know,
That he, my lord, forgets me so?

poem by Confucius
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When he mounts his horse he forgets God; when he dismounts, he forgets his horse.

Russian proverbs
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