Quotes about austen, page 17
When Stretch'd on One's Bed
When stretch'd on one's bed
With a fierce-throbbing head,
Which preculdes alike thought or repose,
How little one cares
For the grandest affairs
That may busy the world as it goes!
How little one feels
For the waltzes and reels
Of our Dance-loving friends at a Ball!
How slight one's concern
To conjecture or learn
What their flounces or hearts may befall.
How little one minds
If a company dines
On the best that the Season affords!
How short is one's muse
O'er the Sauces and Stews,
Or the Guests, be they Beggars or Lords.
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poem by Jane Austen
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Very Subdued Indeed (Revised)
With strange piano tuners staying over
at the farm my twin lives in an activity
whirl, drinking lots of wine and beer while
cursing the piano's unwilling steel strings
She indulges in wild quests to find missing
registration papers, attends family weddings,
visits with her stepdaughter and beau; then
breathlessly my sis wants to know
Whether my life is such wild theatre also,
I say no, not at all, mine is slow, very few
events and little intrigue - though my son
keeps us guessing how he will get on
In school, he claims never to have home-
work - and we wonder if our daughter is
home because she never shows - I have
to visit her room, standing space only
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poem by Margaret Alice Second
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When Winchester races
When Winchester races first took their beginning
It is said the good people forgot their old Saint
Not applying at all for the leave of Saint Swithin
And that William of Wykeham's approval was faint.
The races however were fixed and determined
The company came and the Weather was charming
The Lords and the Ladies were satine'd and ermined
And nobody saw any future alarming.--
But when the old Saint was informed of these doings
He made but one Spring from his Shrine to the Roof
Of the Palace which now lies so sadly in ruins
And then he addressed them all standing aloof.
'Oh! subjects rebellious! Oh Venta depraved
When once we are buried you think we are gone
But behold me immortal! By vice you're enslaved
You have sinned and must suffer, ten farther he said
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poem by Jane Austen
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Lack Of Haute Couture
Beware Sam Vimes; annoyed by a fantailer hat,
jodhpurs and a nervous smile; Sam took on the
legendary Jane Austen, author of world renowned
Pride and Prejudice, to reform her into a modern
writer, criticized the flimsy attire of her five girls
Sending them to Florence Nightingale nursing, open
a Milliner’s shop to put an end to their small talk, marry
Mr Collins the curate shunned by a fastidious Elizabeth
and deleting Mr Darcy; I must agree, Captain Carrot
lords it over all other hero’s in likeability, magical
powers and nobility to withstand pressure to become
king, though he knows his ancestry, being a superhero;
the intrepid commander sees nervous smiles as dead
giveaway of disagreeable intent and jodhpurs means
burgled silverware seen in trousers outlined in teapots
This offensive ensemble is described with inimitable
Pratchettian aplomb: ‘a presumably self-inflicted triple
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poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Dear Colette
Dear Colette,
I want to write to you
about being a woman
for that is what you write to me.
I want to tell you how your face
enduring after thirty, forty, fifty. . .
hangs above my desk
like my own muse.
I want to tell you how your hands
reach out from your books
& seize my heart.
I want to tell you how your hair
electrifies my thoughts
like my own halo.
I want to tell you how your eyes
penetrate my fear
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poem by Erica Jong
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Magnificent Obsession [REVISED]
Chapter Twelve – aspire to some magnificent obsession
greater than yourself – be determined, commit to
big dreams and ideals
sideline the mundane for a grand target effective in
its overall permanence, no trifling, petty frivolities or
meaningless chatter, only a good sense of humour
obsolete or redundant tomorrows lack worthwhileness*,
will not leave marks or footholds for others to build upon
we must set new discovery benchmarks for others
in science, the Arts, industry, stepping stone challenges for
future generations, like Mozart, Anna Pavlova, Sister Theresa,
Anne Franck, Helen Keller, Jane Austen, Newton and Einstein –
created permanence in their fields, a magnificent obsession
with global impact benefiting people in believable and practical
form, giving power and drive to create and pursue lifes goals
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poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Oh! Mr Best You're Very Bad
Oh! Mr. Best, you're very bad
And all the world shall know it;
Your base behaviour shall be sung
By me, a tunefull Poet.--
You used to go to Harrowgate
Each summer as it came,
And why I pray should you refuse
To go this year the same?--
The way's as plain, the road's as smooth,
The Posting not increased;
You're scarcely stouter than you were,
Not younger Sir at least.--
If e'er the waters were of use
Why now their use forego?
You may not live another year,
All's mortal here below.--
It is your duty Mr Best
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poem by Jane Austen
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My Dearest Frank, I Wish You Joy
My dearest Frank, I wish you joy
Of Mary's safety with a Boy,
Whose birth has given little pain
Compared with that of Mary Jane.--
May he a growing Blessing prove,
And well deserve his Parents' Love!--
Endow'd with Art's and Nature's Good,
Thy Name possessing with thy Blood,
In him, in all his ways, may we
Another Francis WIlliam see!--
Thy infant days may he inherit,
THey warmth, nay insolence of spirit;--
We would not with one foult dispense
To weaken the resemblance.
May he revive thy Nursery sin,
Peeping as daringly within,
His curley Locks but just descried,
With 'Bet, my be not come to bide.'--
Fearless of danger, braving pain,
And threaten'd very oft in vain,
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poem by Jane Austen
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You saw it here first...
Today the front page top spot in my upmarket morning paper
elbows aside war, crime, politics, famine, election bribes
with a manicured hand on an elegant arm, to bring you
the ultimate guide to your seduction scene or marriage-freshener -
the famous ball-player's plump chicken of a girlfriend
presented by Vogue, no less. Here is your Complete Jane Austen
Condensed Edition, the Jilly Cooper Omnibus, the Credo
from the Vatican of fashion. This is the stuff
that dreams are made on.
You'll need a chaise-longue to drape yourself on; and here
it's day-dress - of a sort; expensively revealing enough
to press all the buttons, but informal enough
to be ripped off; thus the zipped skirt, open
just above the panty-line, clearly awaits His pull.
The material of the blouse (I'm told it's silk-crepe) clings
as if it were but barely there; it's gathered slightly
between the breasts, just where (follow the dotted line) He
is invited to rip it. Or there's a loose tie below as well;
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poem by Michael Shepherd
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To the Memory of Mrs. Lefroy who died Dec:r 16 -- my Birthday.
The day returns again, my natal day;
What mix'd emotions with the Thought arise!
Beloved friend, four years have pass'd away
Since thou wert snatch'd forever from our eyes.--
The day, commemorative of my birth
Bestowing Life and Light and Hope on me,
Brings back the hour which was thy last on Earth.
Oh! bitter pang of torturing Memory!--
Angelic Woman! past my power to praise
In Language meet, thy Talents, Temper, mind.
Thy solid Worth, they captivating Grace!--
Thou friend and ornament of Humankind!--
At Johnson's death by Hamilton t'was said,
'Seek we a substitute--Ah! vain the plan,
No second best remains to Johnson dead--
None can remind us even of the Man.'
So we of thee--unequall'd in thy race
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poem by Jane Austen
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