Is it thy will, thy image should keep open
My heavy eyelids to the weary night?
Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken,
While shadows like to thee do mock my sight?
Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee
So far from home into my deeds to pry,
To find out shames and idle hours in me,
The scope and tenor of thy jealousy?
O, no! thy love, though much, is not so great:
It is my love that keeps mine eye awake:
Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat,
To play the watchman ever for thy sake:
For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere,
From me far off, with others all too near.



Is anyone afraid of Virginia Woolf? Whatever became of Baby Jane? These are just some things you won't find out here.


Book: 'The Seven Against Thebes' - Aeschylus.
Sounds: Synaulia.
TV: Up the Women.
Subject: Russian (Unit 4).
Site: The Ministry of Burlesque.
Wiki: Ancient Rome.
Project: Sequin Studio.
Dailies: Arkadina | Pepys | Chaucer | Bronte | MedievalSoc.
Sponsor: Text Link Ads.

The Forsyte Saga

Bart: Election next month. Your Labour friends can start lying Michael.
Michael: Do you think they'll get in?
Bart: Not this time, Bonar Law's got it all tied up. Wouldn't be a bad thing if they did: taste of office might help them grow up .... Suppose they did get in? What could they do? Cure unemployment?
Michael: They might, Bart.
Bart: I doubt it, and what else? Would they abolish the cinema? teach English women to cook? make us grow our own food? will they hang all dabblers in poison gas? destroy all bombing aeroplanes and submarines?
Michael: They could try.
Bart: And what about the possesive principle that you disapprove of? Would they abolish that? No, not on your life m'boy. No! All party politics are top dressing. We're ruled by inventors and by human nature.
Michael: Oh-hoo you have got it bad guv'ner.
Bart: But seriously, do you find reality in politics now?
Michael: Oh-hoo, do you find reality in anything now?
Bart: Income Tax, perhaps.
Michael: Such simple faith, it touches me.
Bart: Everything fine and splendid is off: no big schemes; no great principles; no far-sighted views; no great religion; no great art. Just a lot of little men in little hats.


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Motto: "Nolite te bastardes carborundorum" which, roughly translated, means "Don't let the bastards grind you down."
Description: Spinster. Scourge of East Anglia.
Heritage: Caucasian, of Barbarian descent.
Language: English (fluent) + some French, German, Italian, Latin and Russian.
First Memory: Sitting on a kitchen unit watching a golden labrador creep in. I was about 3 1/2.
Happiest Moment: Probably in the womb.
Random Brag: I passed the MENSA entrance test when I was 14, but didn't join as the only perceptible advantage was a magazine containing puzzles. What's the point in them once you've been accepted?
Favourite (Best) Invention: The book, closely followed by the sandwich.
Favourite Word: Difficult. Discombobulate meaning to confuse or disconcert; Callypigian meaning shapely buttocks, Spanghew meaning to cause a frog or toad to fly through the air; usually with the end of a stick. So many.
Favourite Swear Word: Bugger.
Favourite Sound: A cat purring (preferably my own cat).
Favourite Smell: Vanilla.
Favourite Taste: Dark chocolate.
Most Expensive Item: Pink iPod Mini.
Supersitions: Magpies, Touching wood,
Fears: Spiders and Masks.
What makes me feel Guilty: Getting irritable.
Worst Job: Sales assistant in a shoe shop.
You're Not Me definition: You don't exist. Go and look in the mirror. If you see something then we're wrong else you're some kind of magic pixie, elf, carrot or vampire. Sorry.

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