"Sonnet 18" William Shakespeare

Δεκατετράστιχο [126] Κωστὴς Παλαμᾶς

Θεέ μου! Θεέ μου! Μὰ τίποτε δὲν ἔχω
μέσα μου ποὺ μὲ μιὰ καρδιὰ νὰ μοιάζει!
Πότε στραβὸς μὲ πάει τὸ πεῖσμα, τρέχω,
πότε βουβός, μὲ δένει ἕνα μαράζι.
Ἀπὸ βουλή, ἀπὸ γνώμη δὲν κατέχω.
Ψευτοζῶ μὲ τὸ τώρα, δὲ μὲ νοιάζει
γιὰ τὸ χτές. Καὶ γιὰ τὸ αὔριο; Δὲν προσέχω.
Ἡ ἀρνησιὰ μὲ γυμνώνει, μὲ λεκκιάζει
τὸ ψέμα...Εἶμαι σὰν ἕνα θηλυκὸ
ποὺ ὅλο σὲ ἀργὸ καθρέφτισμα ξεχνιέται,
εἶμαι αὐτὸς ποὺ τὸ μαῦρο του ἑαυτὸ
βλέπει ὅλο ἀγνάντια του...Εἶμαι τὸ κακὸ
ποὺ μὲ τὴν ἴδια του ἀσκημιὰ χτυπιέται
στὴ νύχτα ποὺ ὅλο πιὸ πολὺ σκορπιέται...

"Hamlet" William Shakespeare

HAMLET: To be, or not to be- that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them. To die- to sleep-
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die- to sleep.
To sleep- perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub!
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would these fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death-
The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns- puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action.

"Silence" Edgar Allan Poe

  There are some qualities--some incorporate things,
    That have a double life, which thus is made
  A type of that twin entity which springs
    From matter and light, evinced in solid and shade.
  There is a twofold _Silence_--sea and shore--
    Body and soul. One dwells in lonely places,
    Newly with grass o'ergrown; some solemn graces,
  Some human memories and tearful lore,
  Render him terrorless: his name's "No More."
  He is the corporate Silence: dread him not!
    No power hath he of evil in himself;
  But should some urgent fate (untimely lot!)
    Bring thee to meet his shadow (nameless elf,
  That haunteth the lone regions where hath trod
  No foot of man), commend thyself to God!

Friedrich Nietzsche

''Of all that is written,i love only what a person has written with his own blood.''