December 16, 2004
Shakespeare's Sonnet 128, By Google:
"How often, when thou, my music, music play'st,
Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds
With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'st
The wiry concord that mine ear confounds,
Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap
To kiss the tender inward of the hand,
Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap,
At the woods boldness by the blushing stand!
To be so tickl'd they would change their state
And situation with those dancing chips,
O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle giant,
Making deadwood more bless'd than living lips.
Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,
Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss."
It's actually pretty much the same, but I liked that part about gentle giant.
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December 10, 2004
As with the search requests, I've turned off commenting (at least for now) on entries. Curse you, spammers!
Given this, I may switch back to blogger when it becomes convenient.
Note: Some entries still appear to allow comments, but that's only because greymatter refuses to rebuild.
7:50
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December 03, 2004
Title: December 25
While looking through his deceased wife's belongings in the attic, a curmudgeonly old man finds a dictionary and learns the literal meaning of Christmas.
6:40 PM
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