tiny story

μία πολύ μικρή "ιστορία" για την αρχή, την ονειροπόληση, το "ακούειν", τη μάθηση, την υπομονή, την ανεύρεση, την αγάπη, το σεβασμό, την εμπιστοσύνη, τη δέσμευση, το μοίρασμα και την απόλαυση.
Από τους Sebas & Clim 

Το ταξίδι της φάλαινας

stereo nova - το ταξίδι της φάλαινας

album: 1993 Ντισκολάτα (FM Records)

Billie Holiday - Summertime

S u m m e r t i m e

Lyrics:
 Summertime and the livin' is easy
Fish are jumpin' and the cotton is fine
Oh your Daddy's rich and your ma is good lookin'
So hush little baby, don't you cry
One of these mornings
You're goin' to rise up singing
Then you'll spread your wings
And you'll take the sky
 But till that morning
There's a nothin' can harm you
With daddy and mammy standin' by

Billie Holiday and Her Orchestra

To be or not to be . . .

"To be, or not to be..."  -  William Shakespeare

From "Hamlet, Prince of Denmark"



  

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:

Nor more; and by a sleep to say we end

The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks

That flesh is heir to; ‘tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wished. To die; to sleep;

To sleep: perchance to dream: aye, there is 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 will bear the whips and scorns of time,

The 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 the unworthy takes,

When he himself might his quietus make

With a bare bodkin? Who would 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 traveler 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.