LIT Literatuur, Taal en Kunst
Boekbesprekingen, vragen over schrijvers, je favoriete theaterstuk, de mooiste schilderijen of de beste musea. Een must voor alle liefhebbers van kunst, boeken, theater en taal.
Dat zal the grim reaper ook hebben kunnen waarderen.quote:Op donderdag 12 maart 2015 21:54 schreef Kassamiep het volgende:
[..]
Maar wel met katten op zijn bed. Dat maakt iets goed.
Op donderdag 21 juli 2011 23:08 schreef Loveless85 het volgende:
Dan heb je safe = condoom
Double dutch = condoom en pil
quadruple Cat = pil, MAP, condoom, castratie, prikpil, spiraaltje, zaaddodende pasta en voor het jodelen de bergen uit
Dan heb je safe = condoom
Double dutch = condoom en pil
quadruple Cat = pil, MAP, condoom, castratie, prikpil, spiraaltje, zaaddodende pasta en voor het jodelen de bergen uit
The sun goes down upon the Ankh,
And slowly, softly fades -
Across the Drum; the Royal Bank;
The River-Gate; the Shades.
A stony circle's closed to elves;
And here, where lines are blurred,
Between the stacks of books on shelves,
A quiet 'Ook' is heard.
A copper steps the city-street
On paths he's often passed;
The final march; the final beat;
The time to rest at last.
He gives his badge a final shine,
And sadly shakes his head -
While Granny lies beneath a sign
That says: 'I aten't dead.'
The Luggage shifts in sleep and dreams;
It's now. The time's at hand.
For where it's always night, it seems,
A timer clears of sand.
And so it is that Death arrives,
When all the time has gone...
But dreams endure, and hope survives,
And Discworld carries on.
And slowly, softly fades -
Across the Drum; the Royal Bank;
The River-Gate; the Shades.
A stony circle's closed to elves;
And here, where lines are blurred,
Between the stacks of books on shelves,
A quiet 'Ook' is heard.
A copper steps the city-street
On paths he's often passed;
The final march; the final beat;
The time to rest at last.
He gives his badge a final shine,
And sadly shakes his head -
While Granny lies beneath a sign
That says: 'I aten't dead.'
The Luggage shifts in sleep and dreams;
It's now. The time's at hand.
For where it's always night, it seems,
A timer clears of sand.
And so it is that Death arrives,
When all the time has gone...
But dreams endure, and hope survives,
And Discworld carries on.
De pessimist ziet het duister in de tunnel
De optimist ziet het licht aan het eind van de tunnel
De realist ziet de trein komen
De machinist ziet drie idioten in het spoor staan....
De optimist ziet het licht aan het eind van de tunnel
De realist ziet de trein komen
De machinist ziet drie idioten in het spoor staan....
Ondanks dat ik alle boeken de deur uit heb gedaan, houdt Terry een speciaal plekje
We used to hate people - Now we just make fun of them - It's more effective that way
Elk jaar Towel Day!(2)](3)
Dommage arachide-fromage
Elk jaar Towel Day!(2)](3)
Dommage arachide-fromage
De pessimist ziet het duister in de tunnel
De optimist ziet het licht aan het eind van de tunnel
De realist ziet de trein komen
De machinist ziet drie idioten in het spoor staan....
De optimist ziet het licht aan het eind van de tunnel
De realist ziet de trein komen
De machinist ziet drie idioten in het spoor staan....
Zonde.
Mijn favoriete boek was Night watch.
Is bedoel ik natuurlijk, niet was. Het boek er nog altijd wel.
Mijn favoriete boek was Night watch.
Is bedoel ik natuurlijk, niet was. Het boek er nog altijd wel.
GNU Terry Pratchett
Checkmort.
(c) Paul Kidby
REMIND ME AGAIN, he said, HOW THE LITTLE HORSE-SHAPED ONES MOVE.
(c) Paul Kidby
REMIND ME AGAIN, he said, HOW THE LITTLE HORSE-SHAPED ONES MOVE.
De pessimist ziet het duister in de tunnel
De optimist ziet het licht aan het eind van de tunnel
De realist ziet de trein komen
De machinist ziet drie idioten in het spoor staan....
De optimist ziet het licht aan het eind van de tunnel
De realist ziet de trein komen
De machinist ziet drie idioten in het spoor staan....
Een fan vertaalde de laatste tweets in deze strip:
De pessimist ziet het duister in de tunnel
De optimist ziet het licht aan het eind van de tunnel
De realist ziet de trein komen
De machinist ziet drie idioten in het spoor staan....
De optimist ziet het licht aan het eind van de tunnel
De realist ziet de trein komen
De machinist ziet drie idioten in het spoor staan....
“Excuse me, sir.”
The figure in the dark cowl glances over his shoulder at the white-haired woman looking up at him. There is the merest hint of a brow furrowing across the polished ivory forehead. He fumbles in some hidden recess of his cloak for a moment. When he turns to face her, he holds up a plain hourglass. The top bulb has far less sand than the bottom, but more than enough to ensure this meeting is unexpected.
UNUSUAL, MADAM. NOT MANY SEEK ME OUT UNLESS THE GRAINS RUN LOW.
“Yes, sir, I know.”
She meets his gaze fully, despite the trembling plainly visible to the tall figure.
IF YOU WISH AN EXTENSION, YOU MUST TAKE THAT UP WITH—
“No, sir. At least… not for me, sir. In fact, it’s the opposite. I’d like to talk with you about that one, the man in the black hat.”
She inclines her head toward the man standing beside him, watching in uncharacteristic silence.
AH. AND?
“Please, sir, I know it’s possible. You did it yourself for a little girl, and it was done for you, for Bill Door. Please, sir, let me give him mine.”
YOU WOULD DO THIS FOR A STRANGER?
“No, sir.”
The blue of his star-eyes flares for an instant as he turns to go.
“He’s not a stranger, sir.”
YOU HAVE NEVER MET HIM.
“Not in that sense, no, sir. But I have known him for decades. I have laughed with him. Wept with him. Lost sleep to turn one more page, and another, and another. His words, his world, his thoughts have been my meat and drink. I have been Nanny Ogg at the buffet of Discworld, gorging like the glutton I am, returning time and again despite making a fool of myself trying to balance a plate of work and a mug of delight and yet be able to feast. I have walked the desert with Brutha, scaled the pyramid with Teppic. I have fled with Rincewind, pontificated with Ridcully, flown with Granny. I have muttered with Foul Ole Ron, knuckled down the alleys with Detritus, heard my feet whisper ‘you are here’ as the paving stones of Ankh-Morpork spoke to them. I have schemed with Vetinari, fought the madness of craving with Maledict, raided with the Nac Mac Feegle. This man is no stranger, and for him, I say, ‘sir, empty my lifetimer into his’.”
The tall figure taps a gleaming cheekbone with a bony finger. Click. Click. Click. Considering. Finally, he said,
I AM SORRY, MADAM, BUT IT WOULD MAKE LITTLE DIFFERENCE.
“There are others who would make the same offer. I know it, sir.”
He raises his gaze, looking behind her.
YES, IT APPEARS YOU ARE CORRECT.
She turns for a moment. Young, old, men, women, every variation of skin tone, every strata of society, thousands of them, each with a lifetimer held tightly and hope mingling with fear in their eyes. She smiles as she meets the figure’s gaze again.
“You see how much he is loved. Sir, please. He’s important to so many. With all of us offering him borrowed time, he could live almost forever, sir.”
AND SO HE SHALL, MADAM, SO HE SHALL.
“You’ll do it then?”
YOU MISUNDERSTAND. WHAT WAS, HAS ENDED. WHAT IS, HAS BEGUN. He turns to the man in the black hat. SHALL WE GO?
The woman reaches for the tall figure, lays her hand on his skeletal arm.
“You’re taking him? But you said he would live almost forever.”
There is a hint of a raised eyebrow in his look at her hand. Despite the oddity of grasping bone, she does not move her hand, or flinch.
THERE IS, I BELIEVE, ON YOUR WORLD A BOOK CALLED HOLY BY SOME IN WHICH IT IS SAID THAT YOUR WORLD WAS CREATED IN SIX DAYS.
She stifles the question of relevance and nods.
YET YOUR WORLD HAS LASTED BILLIONS OF YEARS.
Again, she nods.
HE TOOK THIRTY-TWO YEARS TO CREATE HIS WORLD. I SHOULD THINK IT WILL LAST AT LEAST AS LONG AS YOUR RACE.
She blinks and gives one last nod, releasing his arm. As the tall figure and the man in the black hat resume their walk, she calls out,
“Sir, will you tell him how much he is loved?”
The tall figure looks down at the man in the black hat, then back to the old woman.
I DO NOT THINK THE UNIVERSE WILL LAST LONG ENOUGH FOR ME TO EXPRESS THAT. BUT I BELIEVE HE UNDERSTANDS YOUR MEANING.
“Thank you, sir.”
She hesitates for a moment, then calls out to their fading forms,
“Stop in any time, sir. Thanks to him, I’m not afraid anymore.”
As they fade completely, a star slowly winks and somewhere, the creator is made welcome.
The figure in the dark cowl glances over his shoulder at the white-haired woman looking up at him. There is the merest hint of a brow furrowing across the polished ivory forehead. He fumbles in some hidden recess of his cloak for a moment. When he turns to face her, he holds up a plain hourglass. The top bulb has far less sand than the bottom, but more than enough to ensure this meeting is unexpected.
UNUSUAL, MADAM. NOT MANY SEEK ME OUT UNLESS THE GRAINS RUN LOW.
“Yes, sir, I know.”
She meets his gaze fully, despite the trembling plainly visible to the tall figure.
IF YOU WISH AN EXTENSION, YOU MUST TAKE THAT UP WITH—
“No, sir. At least… not for me, sir. In fact, it’s the opposite. I’d like to talk with you about that one, the man in the black hat.”
She inclines her head toward the man standing beside him, watching in uncharacteristic silence.
AH. AND?
“Please, sir, I know it’s possible. You did it yourself for a little girl, and it was done for you, for Bill Door. Please, sir, let me give him mine.”
YOU WOULD DO THIS FOR A STRANGER?
“No, sir.”
The blue of his star-eyes flares for an instant as he turns to go.
“He’s not a stranger, sir.”
YOU HAVE NEVER MET HIM.
“Not in that sense, no, sir. But I have known him for decades. I have laughed with him. Wept with him. Lost sleep to turn one more page, and another, and another. His words, his world, his thoughts have been my meat and drink. I have been Nanny Ogg at the buffet of Discworld, gorging like the glutton I am, returning time and again despite making a fool of myself trying to balance a plate of work and a mug of delight and yet be able to feast. I have walked the desert with Brutha, scaled the pyramid with Teppic. I have fled with Rincewind, pontificated with Ridcully, flown with Granny. I have muttered with Foul Ole Ron, knuckled down the alleys with Detritus, heard my feet whisper ‘you are here’ as the paving stones of Ankh-Morpork spoke to them. I have schemed with Vetinari, fought the madness of craving with Maledict, raided with the Nac Mac Feegle. This man is no stranger, and for him, I say, ‘sir, empty my lifetimer into his’.”
The tall figure taps a gleaming cheekbone with a bony finger. Click. Click. Click. Considering. Finally, he said,
I AM SORRY, MADAM, BUT IT WOULD MAKE LITTLE DIFFERENCE.
“There are others who would make the same offer. I know it, sir.”
He raises his gaze, looking behind her.
YES, IT APPEARS YOU ARE CORRECT.
She turns for a moment. Young, old, men, women, every variation of skin tone, every strata of society, thousands of them, each with a lifetimer held tightly and hope mingling with fear in their eyes. She smiles as she meets the figure’s gaze again.
“You see how much he is loved. Sir, please. He’s important to so many. With all of us offering him borrowed time, he could live almost forever, sir.”
AND SO HE SHALL, MADAM, SO HE SHALL.
“You’ll do it then?”
YOU MISUNDERSTAND. WHAT WAS, HAS ENDED. WHAT IS, HAS BEGUN. He turns to the man in the black hat. SHALL WE GO?
The woman reaches for the tall figure, lays her hand on his skeletal arm.
“You’re taking him? But you said he would live almost forever.”
There is a hint of a raised eyebrow in his look at her hand. Despite the oddity of grasping bone, she does not move her hand, or flinch.
THERE IS, I BELIEVE, ON YOUR WORLD A BOOK CALLED HOLY BY SOME IN WHICH IT IS SAID THAT YOUR WORLD WAS CREATED IN SIX DAYS.
She stifles the question of relevance and nods.
YET YOUR WORLD HAS LASTED BILLIONS OF YEARS.
Again, she nods.
HE TOOK THIRTY-TWO YEARS TO CREATE HIS WORLD. I SHOULD THINK IT WILL LAST AT LEAST AS LONG AS YOUR RACE.
She blinks and gives one last nod, releasing his arm. As the tall figure and the man in the black hat resume their walk, she calls out,
“Sir, will you tell him how much he is loved?”
The tall figure looks down at the man in the black hat, then back to the old woman.
I DO NOT THINK THE UNIVERSE WILL LAST LONG ENOUGH FOR ME TO EXPRESS THAT. BUT I BELIEVE HE UNDERSTANDS YOUR MEANING.
“Thank you, sir.”
She hesitates for a moment, then calls out to their fading forms,
“Stop in any time, sir. Thanks to him, I’m not afraid anymore.”
As they fade completely, a star slowly winks and somewhere, the creator is made welcome.
De pessimist ziet het duister in de tunnel
De optimist ziet het licht aan het eind van de tunnel
De realist ziet de trein komen
De machinist ziet drie idioten in het spoor staan....
De optimist ziet het licht aan het eind van de tunnel
De realist ziet de trein komen
De machinist ziet drie idioten in het spoor staan....
Nice. Reaper Man is sowieso toch wel mijn favoriet
Op woensdag 24 sept. 2008 schreef Danny het volgende:
Dagonet doet onaardig tegen iedereen. Je bent dus helemaal niet zo bijzonder als je denkt...
Mijn grootste bijdrage aan de FP.
Dagonet doet onaardig tegen iedereen. Je bent dus helemaal niet zo bijzonder als je denkt...
Mijn grootste bijdrage aan de FP.
Aww man 
wat mooi, dat verhaal!
wat mooi, dat verhaal!
"Pain is my friend. I can trust pain. I can trust pain to make my life utterly miserable."
"My brain is too smart for me."
"We don't need no education." "Yes you do, you just used a double negative."
"My brain is too smart for me."
"We don't need no education." "Yes you do, you just used a double negative."
Ik vind het een beetje pathetisch, en ik ben een fan
We used to hate people - Now we just make fun of them - It's more effective that way
Elk jaar Towel Day!(2)](3)
Dommage arachide-fromage
Elk jaar Towel Day!(2)](3)
Dommage arachide-fromage
12/3/2015 - 12/3/2016
GNU Terry Pratchett...
De pessimist ziet het duister in de tunnel
De optimist ziet het licht aan het eind van de tunnel
De realist ziet de trein komen
De machinist ziet drie idioten in het spoor staan....
De optimist ziet het licht aan het eind van de tunnel
De realist ziet de trein komen
De machinist ziet drie idioten in het spoor staan....
Rest in peace brother
Ik noem een henkie spanky, tinny treus en natuurlijk willy wortel. Allemaal helden uit de brouwerij.
Amai nee dat meen je niet. Heb nog een boek van hem cadeau gekregen op mijn verjaardag. En diegene die het aan mij gaf overlijdde toen vorige vorig jaar. En nu ineens hij ook. Nee wat afschuwelijk
En nog zo jong... Rip....
En nog zo jong... Rip....
Het is al een jaar geledenquote:
We used to hate people - Now we just make fun of them - It's more effective that way
Elk jaar Towel Day!(2)](3)
Dommage arachide-fromage
Elk jaar Towel Day!(2)](3)
Dommage arachide-fromage
Nou én. Ik maak niet zoveel overledenen meequote:
En daarbij... Ik ben in November jarig. Dus letterlijk een jaar geleden is het ook niet.
Komt vanzelf met de jarenquote:Op zondag 20 maart 2016 15:36 schreef -Phineas- het volgende:
Nou én. Ik maak niet zoveel overledenen mee
Acquisitie n.a.v. deze post wordt niet op prijs gesteld.
Don't you see going to heaven is just in the thought that you might?
As an on-line radio program grows longer, the probability of a German song approaches 1.
Don't you see going to heaven is just in the thought that you might?
As an on-line radio program grows longer, the probability of a German song approaches 1.
Heb je ook nog een excuus voor overlijdde?quote:
[..]
Nou én. Ik maak niet zoveel overledenen mee
En daarbij... Ik ben in November jarig. Dus letterlijk een jaar geleden is het ook niet.
We used to hate people - Now we just make fun of them - It's more effective that way
Elk jaar Towel Day!(2)](3)
Dommage arachide-fromage
Elk jaar Towel Day!(2)](3)
Dommage arachide-fromage
Ja overleedquote:Op zondag 20 maart 2016 15:39 schreef Mark het volgende:
[..]
Heb je ook nog een excuus voor overlijdde?
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