Smaller than Life
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Why a blog? Simple. Cacoethes Scribendi -- the urge to write! My literary pretensions and caprices bring me here. Like any writer I write to be read. All my posts, though fettered to my small world and trivially myopic, will live and yearn that somebody connects to them someday. Cognitive frenzies, sardonic musings, aimless banters, incoherent ramblings and trivial indulgences; this is simply an episodic narrative of my trivial world -- in a grain of sand… Smaller than Life.
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Graffiti |
When I am dead, - Hillaire Belloc |
This is my letter to the world
Her message is committed - Emily Dickinson |
The thoughts of our past years - William Wordsworth |
Yours Truly
Name: Dileepan Lampoon me at: panvista@gmail.comOn the Stands A Matter of Perspectives Orienting with the Occidental Avani Avittam in America A Redemption My Mother's Son Westward Bound Beyond the Best Four Years -- BITS, Pilani revisited Of Consciousness and Faith Five Point Something One Last Time Sheaves on the Shelf Buy my Book |
Monday, September 13, 2004
A Song Following is a sonnet by The Bard that I came across a few days back (I remember sending it to a couple of my friends as well). I find myself quite incapacitated to appreciate such mush these days. But, the cliched sentiment (which I will sanctimoniously dismiss as trite) notwithstanding, the rhetoric and word-play is pleasing. And, who knows, I may have actually fallen for it, another time, another day... LXXXIV. Who is it that says most? which can say more Than this rich praise, that you alone are you? In whose confine immured is the store Which should example where your equal grew. Lean penury within that pen doth dwell That to his subject lends not some small glory; But he that writes of you, if he can tell That you are you, so dignifies his story, Let him but copy what in you is writ, Not making worse what nature made so clear, And such a counterpart shall fame his wit, Making his style admired every where. You to your beauteous blessings add a curse, Being fond on praise, which makes your praises worse.
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