In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er, Like coarsest clothes against the cold
Interpretation
The speaker uses words as a protective covering, similar to how weeds can provide warmth against the cold.
In this quote by Alfred Lord Tennyson, the imagery of wrapping oneself in words suggests how language serves as a shield or armor against the harshness of life, much like the coarsest clothes protect against the cold. The comparison to weeds implies that, regardless of refinement, words can provide necessary comfort and defense in difficult situations, highlighting the importance of expression in human experience.
In practice
During a speech about the power of communication, one might say, 'In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er, Like coarsest clothes against the cold.'
Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark; For though from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar.
How many a father have I seen, A sober man, among his boys, Whose youth was full of foolish noise.
O Love! what hours were thine and mine, In lands of palm and southern pine; In lands of palm, of orange-blossom, Of olive, aloe, and maize and vine!
Earth is dry to the centre,_x000D_ But spring, a new comer,_x000D_ A spring rich and strange,_x000D_ Shall make the winds blow_x000D_ Round and round,_x000D_ Thro' and thro',_x000D_ Here and there,_x000D_ Till the air_x000D_ And the ground_x000D_ Shall be fill'd with life anew.
O love, O fire! once he drew With one long kiss my whole soul through My lips, as sunlight drinketh dew.
But thy strong Hours indignant work’d their wills, And beat me down and marr’d and wasted me, And tho’ they could not end me, left me maim’d To dwell in presence of immortal youth, Immortal age beside immortal youth, And all I was, in ashes. - Tithonus
I wish to sing of my interior visions with the naive candour of a child.
After the film it was raining, a light steady rain. Ruthless neon on the wet streets like busted candy.
The pleasure we derive from the representation of the present is due, not only to the beauty it can be clothed in, but also to its essential quality of being the present.
Creativity is an act of defiance.
A picture is nothing but a bridge between the soul of the artist and that of the spectator.
If I were a first rate writer, I wouldn't mind a bit. What does depress me is this: it is so desperately hard and so obsessive and so lonely to write that, in return for all this work, one would like a little self satisfaction. And that is never going to come, for the simple reason that I do not deserve it. I cannot be a good enough writer. You see? I call it grim. But the future looks awfully clear to me.
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