Post one (1) literature. *click*. Right now.


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Post one (1) literature.
*click*
Right now.

  1. 3 months ago
    Anonymous

    > I wandered lonely as a cloud
    > That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
    > When all at once I saw a crowd,
    > A host, of golden daffodils;
    > Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
    > Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

    > Continuous as the stars that shine
    > And twinkle on the milky way,
    > They stretched in never-ending line
    > Along the margin of a bay:
    > Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
    > Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

    > The waves beside them danced; but they
    > Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
    > A poet could not but be gay,
    > In such a jocund company:
    > I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
    > What wealth the show to me had brought:

    > For oft, when on my couch I lie
    > In vacant or in pensive mood,
    > They flash upon that inward eye
    > Which is the bliss of solitude;
    > And then my heart with pleasure fills,
    > And dances with the daffodils.

    • 3 months ago
      Anonymous

      >I wandered lonely as a cloud
      clouds aren't lonely

      • 3 months ago
        Anonymous

        >cloud
        >lonely

        He's not saying clouds are lonely. He's saying he wandered lonely as a cloud. It's a full sentence. If you break it into pieces of course it means something else. A message is the sum of its parts.

        • 3 months ago
          Anonymous

          >he
          as if (you) aren't him
          Just look up the sky, retard
          clouds aren't lonely

    • 3 months ago
      Anonymous

      >I wandered lonely as a cloud

    • 3 months ago
      Anonymous

      >cloud
      >lonely

    • 3 months ago
      Anonymous

      >clouds are lonely

    • 3 months ago
      Anonymous

      >lonely as a cloud
      fucking idiot

    • 3 months ago
      Anonymous

      >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

      [...]

      >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

      [...]

    • 3 months ago
      Anonymous

      Fucking moron. What on God's earth is a "lonely cloud"?

    • 3 months ago
      Anonymous

      ahaha look at this sad cloudboi
      i bet he regrets posting it now

    • 3 months ago
      Anonymous

      >> I wandered lonely as a cloud
      rofl

    • 3 months ago
      Anonymous

      Damn I'm sorry dude you're getting roasted right now, but you should really take a look at the sky sometime.

    • 3 months ago
      Anonymous

      do not let the big meanies here discourage you anon. I believe in you, and truly think that one of these days you will be a great poet, as successful as a cloud.

  2. 3 months ago
    Anonymous

    moby dick

  3. 3 months ago
    Anonymous

    House of trees

  4. 3 months ago
    Anonymous

    Gusic a Tale of War

  5. 3 months ago
    Anonymous

    Origins and Doctrine of Fascism

  6. 3 months ago
    Anonymous

    Moby dick

  7. 3 months ago
    Anonymous

    >McStiltonbreath slightly raised his bum off the seat and let out a fart. He farted rather more loudly than most people would have done in that situation, and also more loudly than he himself would have done if he had known that his mother-in-law was standing behind the door and was about to come in. His mother-in-law came in. She was from Wyoming Cheyenne. She told him this, and he grunted, deeply and in a low register, loud enough that she would know he had heard the remark, but not so loud that she might imagine he cared one bit. He cared about stilton - he most certainly didn't care about her. "Why does it reek of stilton in here?" The mother-in-law asked. McStiltonbreath raised his head slowly from the lump of stilton he had been gnawing since long before the legal-parental intrusion, and little blue and white crumbs of stilton fell from his stubble onto his shirt. He stared at her with his bloodshot eyes. She probably must have guessed that he was looking at her, but she didn't look back at him despite this. She never did. "I come from Wyoming Cheyenne." she repeated, staring out through the window, which according to my calculations meant that her line of vision was pointing at a 49-degree angle to the line of vision which would potentially have connected her gaze to the image of McStiltonbreath's small, tousled head.
    Perhaps surprisingly, given how annoyed he had felt the first time his mother-in-law had told him that she came from Wyoming Cheyenne, McStiltonbreath was very pleasantly taken with the fact that she had repeated the remark, because he felt that by making it so soon after her last remark – the one about the room smelling of stilton – she had relieved him of the duty by social convention to respond to either of the remarks. His hunch over the table increased, and at the same time his thin purple lips gradually twisted into something which, to anyone who knew him, might have looked rather like a faint smile. Triumphant, he fished out a medium-sized lump of stilton from his shirt pocket, where it had accidentally dropped about half an hour ago, and he began to eat it in silent relish, eyes bulging, nose wagging, and jaws working like those of a sheep chewing the cud. The mother-in-law instantly realised her mistake, and she stamped her foot on the ground in disgust. “I come from Wyoming Cheyenne” were the final words that she uttered with great emotion before fleeing through the door, shutting the door so hard on her way out that it created a small breeze which rustled some of the hairs and bristles on Stiltonbreath’s gnarled, scrawny neck as he re-doubled his hunch over the table to focus even harder than he had done before on the task at hand, which, for him, at that time, was to eat plenty of stilton.

    - by me, four years ago

  8. 3 months ago
    Voluntary Fool
  9. 3 months ago
    Anonymous
    • 3 months ago
      Anonymous

      nice poem

  10. 3 months ago
    Anonymous

    You haven't specified the language

    Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita
    Mi ritrovai per una selva oscura
    Che la diritta via era smarrita
    Ahi quanto a dir qual era è cosa dura
    Esta selva selvaggia e aspra e forte,
    Che nel pensier rinova la paura!

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