I will say nothing against the course of my existence. But at bottom it has been nothing but pain and burden, and I can affirm that during the whole of my 75 years, I have not had four weeks of genuine well-being. It is but the perpetual rolling of a rock that must be raised up again forever.
If I'd known computer science was going to be like this, I'd never have
The seen are shadows: the substance is found in the unseen. . . . No doubt, in Christ, the foundation of our faith is unseen; but so is that of yonder tower that lifts its tall erect form among the waves over which it throws a saving light. It appears to rest on the rolling billows; but, beneath these, invisible and immovable, lies the solid rock on which it stands secure; and when the hurricane roars above, and breakers roar below, I could go calmly to sleep in that lone sea tower. Founded on a rock, and safer than the proudest palace that stands on the sandy, surf-beaten shore, it cannot be moved. Still less the Rock of Ages! Who trusts in that is fit for death, prepared for judgment, ready for the last day's sounding trumpet, since, "The Lord redeemeth the soul of His servants, and none of them that trust in Him shall be desolate."--_Guthrie._
Where storm-born shadows hide and hunt I knew thee, in thy glorious youth, And loved thy vast face, white as truth; I stood where thunderbolts were wont To smite thy Titan-fashioned front, And heard dark mountains rock and roll; I saw the lightning's gleaming rod Reach forth and write on heaven's scroll The awful autograph of God!
It turns out a lot of people don’t get it. Wikipedia is like rock’n’roll; it’s a cultural shift.
And now, if we gaze from our native shores over the vast ocean of human speech, with its waves rolling on from continent to continent, rising under the fresh breezes of the morning of history, and slowly heaving in our own more sultry atmosphere, with sails gliding over its surface, and many an oar ploughing through its surf, and the flags of all nations waving joyously together, with its rocks and wrecks, its storms and battles, yet reflecting serenely all that is beneath and above and around it; if we gaze and hearken to the strange sounds rushing past our ears in unbroken strains, it seems no longer a wild tumult, but we feel as if placed within some ancient cathedral, listening to a chorus of innumerable voices: and the more intensely we listen, the more all discords melt away into higher harmonies, till at last we hear but one majestic trichord, or a mighty unison, as at the end of a sacred symphony. Such visions will float through the study of the grammarian, and in the midst of toilsome researches his heart will suddenly beat, as he feels the conviction growing upon him that men are brethren in the simplest sense of the word--the children of the same father--whatever their country, their language, and their faith.
I love ROCK 'N ROLL! I memorized the all WORDS to "WIPE-OUT" in 1965!!
"So-called Christian rock. . . . is a diabolical force undermining Christianity from within." -- Jimmy Swaggart, hypocrite and TV preacher, self-described pornography addict, "Two points of view: 'Christian' rock and roll.", The Evangelist, 17(8): 49-50.
The morning sun when it's in your face really shows your age, But that don't bother me none; in my eyes you're everything. I know I keep you amused, But I feel I'm being used. Oh, Maggie, I wish I'd never seen your face. You took me away from home, Just to save you from being alone; You stole my heart, and that's what really hurts. I suppose I could collect my books and get on back to school, Or steal my daddy's cue and make a living out of playing pool, Or find myself a rock 'n' roll band, That needs a helping hand, Oh, Maggie I wish I'd never seen your face. You made a first-class fool out of me, But I'm as blind as a fool can be. You stole my soul, and that's a pain I can do without. -- Rod Stewart, "Maggie May"
My My, hey hey
It's better to burn out This is the story of a Johnny Rotten
Than to fade away It's better to burn out than it is to rust
My my, hey hey The king is gone but he's not forgotten
It's out of the blue and into the black Hey hey, my my
They give you this, but you pay for that Rock and roll can never die
And once you're gone you can never come back There's more to the picture
When you're out of the blue Than meets the eye
And into the black
-- Neil Young
"My My, Hey Hey (Out of the Blue), Rust Never Sleeps"
After a few boring years, socially meaningful rock 'n' roll died out. It was replaced by disco, which offers no guidance to any form of life more advanced than the lichen family. -- Dave Barry, "Kids Today: They Don't Know Dum Diddly Do"
Like ya know? Rock 'N Roll is an esoteric language that unlocks the creativity chambers in people's brains, and like totally activates their essential hipness, which of course is like totally necessary for saving the earth, like because the first thing in saving this world, is getting rid of stupid and square attitudes and having fun. -- Senior Year Quote
He's been like a father to me, He's the only DJ you can get after three, I'm an all-night musician in a rock and roll band, And why he don't like me I don't understand. -- The Byrds
You can't run away forever, But there's nothing wrong with getting a good head start. -- Jim Steinman, "Rock and Roll Dreams Come Through"
T: One big monster, he called TROLL. He don't rock, and he don't roll; Drink no wine, and smoke no stogies. He just Love To Eat Them Roguies. -- The Roguelet's ABC
If I'd known computer science was going to be like this, I'd never have given up being a rock 'n' roll star. -- G. Hirst
Welcome back, my friends, to the show that never ends! We're so glad you could attend, come inside, come inside! There behind the glass there's a real blade of grass, Be careful as you pass, move along, move along. Come inside, the show's about to start, Guaranteed to blow your head apart. Rest assured, you'll get your money's worth, Greatest show, in heaven, hell or earth! You gotta see the show! It's a dynamo! You gotta see the show! It's rock 'n' roll! -- ELP, "Karn Evil 9" (1st Impression, Part 2)
"I turn on my television set. I see a young lady who goes under the guise of being a Christian, known all over the nation, dressed in skin-tight leather pants, shaking and wiggling her hips to the beat and rhythm of the music as the strobe lights beat their patterns across the stage and the band plays the contemporary rock sound which cannot be differentiated from songs by the Grateful Dead, the Beatles, or anyone else. And you may try to tell me this is of God and that it is leading people to Christ, but I know better. -- Jimmy Swaggart, hypocritical sexual pervert and TV preacher, self-described pornography addict, "Two points of view: 'Christian' rock and roll.", The Evangelist, 17(8): 49-50.
If I could stick my pen in my heart, I would spill it all over the stage. Would it satisfy ya, would it slide on by ya, Would you think the boy was strange? Ain't he strange? ... If I could stick a knife in my heart, Suicide right on the stage, Would it be enough for your teenage lust, Would it help to ease the pain? Ease your brain? -- Rolling Stones, "It's Only Rock'N Roll"
Well, we're big rock singers, we've got golden fingers, And we're loved everywhere we go. We sing about beauty, and we sing about truth, At ten thousand dollars a show. We take all kind of pills to give us all kind of thrills, But the thrill we've never known, Is the thrill that'll get'cha, when you get your picture, On the cover of the Rolling Stone. I got a freaky old lady, name of Cole King Katie, Who embroiders on my jeans. I got my poor old gray-haired daddy, Drivin' my limousine. Now it's all designed, to blow our minds, But our minds won't be really be blown; Like the blow that'll get'cha, when you get your picture, On the cover of the Rolling Stone. We got a lot of little, teen-aged, blue-eyed groupies, Who'll do anything we say. We got a genuine Indian guru, that's teachin' us a better way. We got all the friends that money can buy, So we never have to be alone. And we keep gettin' richer, but we can't get our picture, On the cover of the Rolling Stone. -- Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show [As a note, they eventually DID make the cover of RS. Ed.]
Recently deceased blues guitarist Stevie Ray Vaughan "comes to" after his death. He sees Jimi Hendrix sitting next to him, tuning his guitar. "Holy cow," he thinks to himself, "this guy is my idol." Over at the microphone, about to sing, are Jim Morrison and Janis Joplin, and the bassist is the late Barry Oakley of the Allman Brothers. So Stevie Ray's thinking, "Oh, wow! I've died and gone to rock and roll heaven." Just then, Karen Carpenter walks in, sits down at the drums, and says: "'Close to You'. Hit it, boys!" -- Told by Penn Jillette, of magic/comedy duo Penn and Teller
I was eatin' some chop suey, With a lady in St. Louie, When there sudden comes a knockin' at the door. And that knocker, he says, "Honey,
Or your daddy shoots a baddie to the floor."
-- Mr. Miggle
Sacred to Vulcan's name, an isle there lay, Betwixt Sicilia's coasts and Lipare, Rais'd high on smoking rocks; and, deep below, In hollow caves the fires of Aetna glow. The Cyclops here their heavy hammers deal; Loud strokes, and hissings of tormented steel, Are heard around; the boiling waters roar, And smoky flames thro' fuming tunnels soar. Hether the Father of the Fire, by night, Thro' the brown air precipitates his flight. On their eternal anvils here he found The brethren beating, and the blows go round. A load of pointless thunder now there lies Before their hands, to ripen for the skies: These darts, for angry Jove, they daily cast; Consum'd on mortals with prodigious waste. Three rays of writhen rain, of fire three more, Of winged southern winds and cloudy store As many parts, the dreadful mixture frame; And fears are added, and avenging flame. Inferior ministers, for Mars, repair His broken axletrees and blunted war, And send him forth again with furbish'd arms, To wake the lazy war with trumpets' loud alarms. The rest refresh the scaly snakes that fold The shield of Pallas, and renew their gold. Full on the crest the Gorgon's head they place, With eyes that roll in death, and with distorted face.
15:46. And Joseph, buying fine linen and taking him down, wrapped him up in the fine linen and laid him in a sepulchre which was hewed out of a rock. And he rolled a stone to the door of the sepulchre.
He said, whom Agamemnon at his heart Exulting, pass'd, and in his progress came Where stood each Ajax; them he found prepared With all their cloud of infantry behind. As when the goat-herd on some rocky point Advanced, a cloud sees wafted o'er the deep By western gales, and rolling slow along, To him, who stands remote, pitch-black it seems, And comes with tempest charged; he at the sight Shuddering, his flock compels into a cave; So moved the gloomy phalanx, rough with spears, And dense with shields of youthful warriors bold, Close-following either Ajax to the fight.
So saying, the Hero through the palace-gate Issued, whom, by Alcinoüs' command, The royal herald to his vessel led. Three maidens also of Areta's train His steps attended; one, the robe well-bleach'd And tunic bore; the corded coffer, one; And food the third, with wine of crimson hue. Arriving where the galley rode, each gave Her charge to some brave mariner on board, And all was safely stow'd. Meantime were spread Linen and arras on the deck astern, For his secure repose. And now the Chief Himself embarking, silent lay'd him down. Then, ev'ry rower to his bench repair'd; They drew the loosen'd cable from its hold In the drill'd rock, and, resupine, at once With lusty strokes upturn'd the flashing waves. _His_ eye-lids, soon, sleep, falling as a dew, Closed fast, death's simular, in sight the same. She, as four harness'd stallions o'er the plain Shooting together at the scourge's stroke, Toss high their manes, and rapid scour along, So mounted she the waves, while dark the flood Roll'd after her of the resounding Deep. Steady she ran and safe, passing in speed The falcon, swiftest of the fowls of heav'n; With such rapidity she cut the waves, An hero bearing like the Gods above In wisdom, one familiar long with woe In fight sustain'd, and on the perilous flood, Though sleeping now serenely, and resign'd To sweet oblivion of all sorrow past. The brightest star of heav'n, precursor chief Of day-spring, now arose, when at the isle (Her voyage soon perform'd) the bark arrived.
"Say! Why, Tom, I _know_ she is. She witched pap. Pap says so his own self. He come along one day, and he see she was a-witching him, so he took up a rock, and if she hadn't dodged, he'd a got her. Well, that very night he rolled off'n a shed wher' he was a layin drunk, and broke his arm."
Poor Queequeg! when the ship was about half disembowelled, you should have stooped over the hatchway, and peered down upon him there; where, stripped to his woollen drawers, the tattooed savage was crawling about amid that dampness and slime, like a green spotted lizard at the bottom of a well. And a well, or an ice-house, it somehow proved to him, poor pagan; where, strange to say, for all the heat of his sweatings, he caught a terrible chill which lapsed into a fever; and at last, after some days' suffering, laid him in his hammock, close to the very sill of the door of death. How he wasted and wasted away in those few long-lingering days, till there seemed but little left of him but his frame and tattooing. But as all else in him thinned, and his cheek-bones grew sharper, his eyes, nevertheless, seemed growing fuller and fuller; they became of a strange softness of lustre; and mildly but deeply looked out at you there from his sickness, a wondrous testimony to that immortal health in him which could not die, or be weakened. And like circles on the water, which, as they grow fainter, expand; so his eyes seemed rounding and rounding, like the rings of Eternity. An awe that cannot be named would steal over you as you sat by the side of this waning savage, and saw as strange things in his face, as any beheld who were bystanders when Zoroaster died. For whatever is truly wondrous and fearful in man, never yet was put into words or books. And the drawing near of Death, which alike levels all, alike impresses all with a last revelation, which only an author from the dead could adequately tell. So that--let us say it again--no dying Chaldee or Greek had higher and holier thoughts than those, whose mysterious shades you saw creeping over the face of poor Queequeg, as he quietly lay in his swaying hammock, and the rolling sea seemed gently rocking him to his final rest, and the ocean's invisible flood-tide lifted him higher and higher towards his destined heaven.
As flames among the lofty woods are thrown On diff'rent sides, and both by winds are blown; The laurels crackle in the sputt'ring fire; The frighted sylvans from their shades retire: Or as two neighb'ring torrents fall from high; Rapid they run; the foamy waters fry; They roll to sea with unresisted force, And down the rocks precipitate their course: Not with less rage the rival heroes take Their diff'rent ways, nor less destruction make. With spears afar, with swords at hand, they strike; And zeal of slaughter fires their souls alike. Like them, their dauntless men maintain the field; And hearts are pierc'd, unknowing how to yield: They blow for blow return, and wound for wound; And heaps of bodies raise the level ground.
With such encouragement those Grecian chiefs The King of Ocean roused. Then, circled soon By many a phalanx either Ajax stood, Whose order Mars himself arriving there Had praised, or Pallas, patroness of arms. For there the flower of all expected firm Bold Hector and his host; spear crowded spear, Shield, helmet, man, press'd helmet, man and shield; The hairy crests of their resplendent casques Kiss'd close at every nod, so wedged they stood; No spear was seen but in the manly grasp It quiver'd, and their every wish was war. The powers of Ilium gave the first assault Embattled close; them Hector led himself Right on, impetuous as a rolling<b> rock Destructive; torn by torrent waters off From its old lodgment on the mountain's brow, It bounds, it shoots away; the crashing wood Falls under it; impediment or check None stays its fury, till the level found, There, settling by degrees, it rolls no more; So after many a threat that he would pass Easily through the Grecian camp and fleet And slay to the sea-brink, when Hector once Had fallen on those firm ranks, standing, he bore Vehement on them; but by many a spear Urged and bright falchion, soon, reeling, retired, And call'd vociferous on the host of Troy.
Dantes approached the upper rock, which now, without any support, leaned towards the sea. The intrepid treasure-seeker walked round it, and, selecting the spot from whence it appeared most susceptible to attack, placed his lever in one of the crevices, and strained every nerve to move the mass. The rock, already shaken by the explosion, tottered on its base. Dantes redoubled his efforts; he seemed like one of the ancient Titans, who uprooted the mountains to hurl against the father of the gods. The rock yielded, rolled over, bounded from point to point, and finally disappeared in the ocean.
Alterations have been made in that part of the Temple since that time, and it has not now so lonely a character as it had then, nor is it so exposed to the river. We lived at the top of the last house, and the wind rushing up the river shook the house that night, like discharges of cannon, or breakings of a sea. When the rain came with it and dashed against the windows, I thought, raising my eyes to them as they rocked, that I might have fancied myself in a storm-beaten lighthouse. Occasionally, the smoke came rolling down the chimney as though it could not bear to go out into such a night; and when I set the doors open and looked down the staircase, the staircase lamps were blown out; and when I shaded my face with my hands and looked through the black windows (opening them ever so little was out of the question in the teeth of such wind and rain), I saw that the lamps in the court were blown out, and that the lamps on the bridges and the shore were shuddering, and that the coal-fires in barges on the river were being carried away before the wind like red-hot splashes in the rain.
Within a long recess there lies a bay: An island shades it from the rolling sea, And forms a port secure for ships to ride; Broke by the jutting land, on either side, In double streams the briny waters glide. Betwixt two rows of rocks a sylvan scene Appears above, and groves for ever green: A grot is form'd beneath, with mossy seats, To rest the Nereids, and exclude the heats. Down thro' the crannies of the living walls The crystal streams descend in murm'ring falls: No haulsers need to bind the vessels here, Nor bearded anchors; for no storms they fear. Sev'n ships within this happy harbor meet, The thin remainders of the scatter'd fleet. The Trojans, worn with toils, and spent with woes, Leap on the welcome land, and seek their wish'd repose.
In the second engraving, the boat is in the act of drawing alongside the barnacled flank of a large running Right Whale, that rolls his black weedy bulk in the sea like some mossy rock-slide from the Patagonian cliffs. His jets are erect, full, and black like soot; so that from so abounding a smoke in the chimney, you would think there must be a brave supper cooking in the great bowels below. Sea fowls are pecking at the small crabs, shell-fish, and other sea candies and maccaroni, which the Right Whale sometimes carries on his pestilent back. And all the while the thick-lipped leviathan is rushing through the deep, leaving tons of tumultuous white curds in his wake, and causing the slight boat to rock in the swells like a skiff caught nigh the paddle-wheels of an ocean steamer. Thus, the foreground is all raging commotion; but behind, in admirable artistic contrast, is the glassy level of a sea becalmed, the drooping unstarched sails of the powerless ship, and the inert mass of a dead whale, a conquered fortress, with the flag of capture lazily hanging from the whale-pole inserted into his spout-hole.
Fierce Turnus in another quarter fought, When suddenly th' unhop'd-for news was brought, The foes had left the fastness of their place, Prevail'd in fight, and had his men in chase. He quits th' attack, and, to prevent their fate, Runs where the giant brothers guard the gate. The first he met, Antiphates the brave, But base-begotten on a Theban slave, Sarpedon's son, he slew: the deadly dart Found passage thro' his breast, and pierc'd his heart. Fix'd in the wound th' Italian cornel stood, Warm'd in his lungs, and in his vital blood. Aphidnus next, and Erymanthus dies, And Meropes, and the gigantic size Of Bitias, threat'ning with his ardent eyes. Not by the feeble dart he fell oppress'd (A dart were lost within that roomy breast), But from a knotted lance, large, heavy, strong, Which roar'd like thunder as it whirl'd along: Not two bull hides th' impetuous force withhold, Nor coat of double mail, with scales of gold. Down sunk the monster bulk and press'd the ground; His arms and clatt'ring shield on the vast body sound, Not with less ruin than the Bajan mole, Rais'd on the seas, the surges to control- At once comes tumbling down the rocky wall; Prone to the deep, the stones disjointed fall Of the vast pile; the scatter'd ocean flies; Black sands, discolor'd froth, and mingled mud arise: The frighted billows roll, and seek the shores; Then trembles Prochyta, then Ischia roars: Typhoeus, thrown beneath, by Jove's command, Astonish'd at the flaw that shakes the land, Soon shifts his weary side, and, scarce awake, With wonder feels the weight press lighter on his back.
"Right o'er against Plemmyrium's wat'ry strand, There lies an isle once call'd th' Ortygian land. Alpheus, as old fame reports, has found From Greece a secret passage under ground, By love to beauteous Arethusa led; And, mingling here, they roll in the same sacred bed. As Helenus enjoin'd, we next adore Diana's name, protectress of the shore. With prosp'rous gales we pass the quiet sounds Of still Elorus, and his fruitful bounds. Then, doubling Cape Pachynus, we survey The rocky shore extended to the sea. The town of Camarine from far we see, And fenny lake, undrain'd by fate's decree. In sight of the Geloan fields we pass, And the large walls, where mighty Gela was; Then Agragas, with lofty summits crown'd, Long for the race of warlike steeds renown'd. We pass'd Selinus, and the palmy land, And widely shun the Lilybaean strand, Unsafe, for secret rocks and moving sand. At length on shore the weary fleet arriv'd, Which Drepanum's unhappy port receiv'd. Here, after endless labors, often toss'd By raging storms, and driv'n on ev'ry coast, My dear, dear father, spent with age, I lost: Ease of my cares, and solace of my pain, Sav'd thro' a thousand toils, but sav'd in vain The prophet, who my future woes reveal'd, Yet this, the greatest and the worst, conceal'd; And dire Celaeno, whose foreboding skill Denounc'd all else, was silent of the ill. This my last labor was. Some friendly god From thence convey'd us to your blest abode."