This site is dedicated to the memory of Dr. Alan William Smolowe who gave birth to the creation of this database.
We are generally so much pleased with any little accomplishments, either of body or mind, which have once made us remarkable in the world, that we endeavor to persuade ourselves it is not in the power of time to rob us of them. We are eternally pursuing the same methods which first procured us the applauses of mankind. It is from this notion that an author writes on, though he is come to dotage; without ever considering that his memory is impaired, and that he hath lost that life, and those spirits, which formerly raised his fancy and fired his imagination. The same folly hinders a man from submitting his behavior to his age, and makes Clodius, who was a celebrated dancer at five-and-twenty, still love to hobble in a minuet, though he is past threescore. It is this, in a word, which fills the town with elderly fops and superannuated coquettes.
Human nature | Life | Life | Man | Nature | Nothing | Will |
There is also poetry written to be shouted in a square in front of an enthusiastic crowd. This occurs especially in countries where authoritarian regimes are in power.
Will |
I love the old way best, the simple way of poison, where we too are strong as men.
Friend | Gratitude | Prosperity | Will |
Today's today. Tomorrow we may be ourselves gone down the drain of Eternity.
Go, words, betrayed the bite secreted in vain, the wind blowing in the heart. The real reason is most of those who keep silent
Difficulty | Man | Will |
He is life's liberating force. He is release of limbs and communion through dance. He is laughter, and music in flutes. He is repose from all cares -- he is sleep! When his blood bursts from the grape and flows across tables laid in his honor to fuse with our blood, he gently, gradually, wraps us in shadows of ivy-cool sleep.
Will |
Stronger than lover's love is lover's hate. Incurable, in each, the wounds they make.
To a father waxing old nothing is dearer than a daughter. - Sons have spirits of higher pitch, but less inclined to sweet, endearing fondness.
Will |
Today not even a universal fire could make the torrential poetic production of our time disappear. But it is exactly a question of production, that is, of hand-made products which are subject to the laws of taste and fashion.
Do we, holding that gods exist, deceive ourselves with unsubstantiated dreams, and lies, while random careless chance and change alone rule the world?
Do not grieve so much for a husband lost that it wastes away your life.