R&P: What's your favorite poem?
MQ2: What song best accompanies the poem you chose in your opinion?
BQ: Favorite author?
BQ2: Favorite quote?
BQ3: In one word, what's the most important thing in the world?
MQ2: What song best accompanies the poem you chose in your opinion?
BQ: Favorite author?
BQ2: Favorite quote?
BQ3: In one word, what's the most important thing in the world?
Anonymous
Favorite Answer
"I felt a funeral in my brain" Emily Dickinson
MQ2: I see a Darkness - Johnny Cash
BQ: Oscar Wilde
BQ2: "If you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you."
- Friedrich Nietzsche
BQ3: Acceptance
?
Celebration of the Lizard. Poems bother me for some reason. I guess it's their structure
MQ2 Not To Touch the Earth by The Doors
BQ Robert Louis Stevenson, Alexandre Dumas, Jules Verne, J.R.R. Tolkien or Douglas Adams.
BQ2 "I was a rust repairer and four time survivor. I survived all of the major earthquakes, several airplane crashes, and the Titanic"-Keith Moon
BQ3 Happiness
?
The Raven - Edga Allen Poe
MQ2: Symphony of Dolls-Scytherium. Both have the same horror elements and create that eerie atmosphere.
BQ: Too many to name. Isaac Asimov and Stephen King to name a couple.
BQ2: I choose to live and not merely exist by James Hetfield, off the top of my head
BQ3: Humour
seasons
R&P: Robert Frost's "Road Not Taken"
MQ2: Khalil Fong's version of "Moon River"
BQ: Author Golden
BQ2: "When making a decision, take the choice you will regret less."
BQ3: Love. Sorry, I'm usually not this corny. But I really do believe so. Next in line would be 'balance.' ^^
Jacqueline
this one by W.B. Yeats is incredible: THE SECOND COMING Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity. Surely some revelation is at hand; Surely the Second Coming is at hand. The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert A shape with lion body and the head of a man, A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds. The darkness drops again; but now I know That twenty centuries of stony sleep Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?