/lit/ - Literature

Oh, the tree of life is growing
Where the spirit never dies
And the bright light of salvation shines
In dark and empty skies
When the cities are on fire
With the burning flesh of men
Just remember that death is not the end

>>20119948
these memes are so fucking gay, i cant fathom how faggoty you'd have to be to make and share such a thing

sonnets are boring

If you're any kind of philosopher you need to leave. This is a literature board.

>>19635069
>woman
>your apartment
>bookshelf
I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about.

>I said in mine heart concerning the estate of the sons of men, that God might manifest them, and that they might see that they themselves are beasts. For that which befalleth the sons of men befalleth beasts; even one thing befalleth them: as the one dieth, so dieth the other; yea, they have all one breath; so that a man hath no preeminence above a beast: for all is vanity. All go unto one place; all are of the dust, and all turn to dust again.

What does it mean to have your balls to the wall?

>>19555550
the Urquhart translation is not only by far the most famous and historically celebrated version, it's one of the most celebrated translations in the history of English literature, and is rightly considered a distinct work of literature itself, in that Urquhart was not a slavish translator, but a true Rabelesian one. For example, where Rabelais in the French lists nine animal noises in a passage, Urquhart adds an additional sixty-one. Rather than being much shorter than the original, his text is double it in length. The version you have is either abridged (it'll say so) or simply has smaller text, thus more words per page.

What is Being?

My favorite books are already out of print.

It's just the flu. Dilate and touch grass immediately.

>>19449073
>just bought the e-book

>>19441604
It's AYE you're sposed to say AYE

>>19393480
No I was calling anon a tranny for being into bad poetry. You too will never be a woman. Touch grass immediately.
>>19397488
Patrician taste.

As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods,
They kill us for their sport.

I didn't know Hobbes translated Homer. What are some other lesser-known translations of him?

Time turns the old things to derision
And our loves into corpses or wives,
And marriage and death and division
Make barren our lives

The skies can't keep their secret!
They tell it to the hills —
The hills just tell the orchards —
And they the daffodils!

A bird, by chance, that goes that way
Soft overheard the whole.
If I should bribe the little bird,
Who knows but she would tell?

I think I won't, however,
It's finer not to know;
If summer were an axiom,
What sorcery had snow?

So keep your secret, Father!
I would not, if I could,
Know what the sapphire fellows do,
In your new-fashioned world!

Thou, with strange adultery,
Dost in each breast a brothel keep;
Awake all men do lust for thee,
And some enjoy thee when they sleep.

Time turns the old things to derision
And our loves into corpses or wives,
And marriage and death and division
Make barren our lives

>>19308155
It was bait. I was baiting you.

Where are you supposed to put the oil?

That's a screenshot from a Youtube stream's chat log. And this is a literature forum.

Frankenstein was the monster's name.