audentes fortuna iuvat

This one struck me as well

I guess when all is said and done, as practical as I am in my day to day life – I remain a romantic at heart.

Sonnet 108
What's in the brain, that ink may character,
Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit?
What's new to speak, what now to register,
That may express my love, or thy dear merit?
Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine,
I must each day say o'er the very same;
Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,
Even as when first I hallowed thy fair name.
So that eternal love in love's fresh case,
Weighs not the dust and injury of age,
Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place,
But makes antiquity for aye his page;
Finding the first conceit of love there bred,
Where time and outward form would show it dead.
 

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Hem Bairg

A small leather holdall used by Strine women for carrying all manner of possesions and personal effects with them everywhere they go (“Haya seemie Hem Bairg pet? Air! ya leftit honour flaw roite wear oycud treepova eet! Woy carnya peekie dup, ya shtubid bet!”)

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Its strange the routes we come to things.

I havent read any Shakespear since I was at University, studying a Batchelor of Music.They were shoving any culture they could at us in the hope that something would stick – it didnt really.

But recently some of Shakespears sonnets came past me from the most unlikely of sources (see the video below), and I have been reading a few of them.

 Now, at last they seem to touch me.

Maybe it was that as a 19 year old, I didnt have the experience to understand them. But a little battle scarred and love lorn as I am, there are words there that mean something.

This one has particular meaning. The people I have loved, I have never seen as perfect. In fact, when i look back, I think I have loved them for their humanity, their weakness and their flaws as much as the things that made them so obviously special. And part of me still loves them – that includes the one who broke my heart, and the one recently gone.

Sonnet 130
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

And now for something lighter…

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Airpsly Fair-billis

Exceptionally good or pleasing ("Aw heddan Airpsly Fair-billis toime lar snoite")

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