dr seuss
Theodor Seuss Geisel. March 2, 1904 – September 24, 1991 he was an American writer, poet, and cartoonist most widely known for his children's books written unde hs pen name Dr. Seuss,
He published 46 children's books, which were often characterized by imaginative characters, rhyme, and frequent use of trisyllabic meter. His most celebrated books include the bestselling Green Eggs and Ham, The Cat in the Hat, One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish, Horton Hatches the Egg, Horton Hears a Who!, and How the Grinch Stole Christmas!. Numerous adaptations of his work have been created, including 11 television specials, four feature films, a Broadway musical and four television series. He won the Lewis Carroll Shelf Award in 1958 for Horton Hatches the Egg and again in 1961 for And to Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street.
How did it get so late so soon?
It’s night before it’s
afternoon.
December is here before it’s June.
My goodness how the time has
flewn.
How did it get so late so soon?
~Dr. Seuss
You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can
steer yourself in any direction you choose.
You’re on your own.
And you
know what you know.
You are the guy who’ll decide where to go.
~Dr. Seuss
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the
mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to
snow
or waiting around for a Yes or a No
or waiting for their hair to
grow.
Everyone is just waiting.
Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or
waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their uncle
Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a string of pearls, or a pair
of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just
waiting.
~ Dr.Seuss
He published 46 children's books, which were often characterized by imaginative characters, rhyme, and frequent use of trisyllabic meter. His most celebrated books include the bestselling Green Eggs and Ham, The Cat in the Hat, One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish, Horton Hatches the Egg, Horton Hears a Who!, and How the Grinch Stole Christmas!. Numerous adaptations of his work have been created, including 11 television specials, four feature films, a Broadway musical and four television series. He won the Lewis Carroll Shelf Award in 1958 for Horton Hatches the Egg and again in 1961 for And to Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street.
How did it get so late so soon?
It’s night before it’s
afternoon.
December is here before it’s June.
My goodness how the time has
flewn.
How did it get so late so soon?
~Dr. Seuss
You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can
steer yourself in any direction you choose.
You’re on your own.
And you
know what you know.
You are the guy who’ll decide where to go.
~Dr. Seuss
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the
mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to
snow
or waiting around for a Yes or a No
or waiting for their hair to
grow.
Everyone is just waiting.
Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or
waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their uncle
Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a string of pearls, or a pair
of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just
waiting.
~ Dr.Seuss
robert Frost
Robert Lee Frost (March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963) was an American poet. He is highly regarded for his realistic depictions of rural life and his command of American colloquial speech. His work frequently employed settings from rural life in New England in the early twentieth century, using them to examine complex social and philosophical themes. A popular and often-quoted poet, Frost was honored frequently during his lifetime, receiving four Pulitzer Prizes for Poetry.
A Boundless Moment
He halted in the wind, and -- what was that
Far in the maples, pale,
but not a ghost?
He stood there bringing March against his thought,
And
yet too ready to believe the most.
"Oh, that's the Paradise-in-bloom," I
said;
And truly it was fair enough for flowers
had we but in us to assume
in march
Such white luxuriance of May for ours.
We stood a moment so
in a strange world,
Myself as one his own pretense deceives;
And then I
said the truth (and we moved on).
A young beech clinging to its last year's
leaves.
Robert Frost
A Brook In The City
The farmhouse lingers, though averse to square
With the new city
street it has to wear
A number in. But what about the brook
That held the
house as in an elbow-crook?
I ask as one who knew the brook, its
strength
And impulse, having dipped a finger length
And made it leap my
knuckle, having tossed
A flower to try its currents where they
crossed.
The meadow grass could be cemented down
From growing under
pavements of a town;
The apple trees be sent to hearth-stone flame.
Is
water wood to serve a brook the same?
How else dispose of an immortal
force
No longer needed? Staunch it at its source
With cinder loads dumped
down? The brook was thrown
Deep in a sewer dungeon under stone
In fetid
darkness still to live and run --
And all for nothing it had ever
done
Except forget to go in fear perhaps.
No one would know except for
ancient maps
That such a brook ran water. But I wonder
If from its being
kept forever under,
The thoughts may not have risen that so keep
This
new-built city from both work and sleep.
Robert Frost
A Dream Pang
I had withdrawn in forest, and my song
Was swallowed up in leaves
that blew alway;
And to the forest edge you came one day
(This was my
dream) and looked and pondered long,
But did not enter, though the wish was
strong:
You shook your pensive head as who should say,
‘I dare not—too
far in his footsteps stray—
He must seek me would he undo the wrong.
Not far, but near, I stood and saw it all
Behind low boughs the
trees let down outside;
And the sweet pang it cost me not to call
And
tell you that I saw does still abide.
But ’tis not true that thus I dwelt
aloof,
For the wood wakes, and you are here for proof.
Robert Frost
A Boundless Moment
He halted in the wind, and -- what was that
Far in the maples, pale,
but not a ghost?
He stood there bringing March against his thought,
And
yet too ready to believe the most.
"Oh, that's the Paradise-in-bloom," I
said;
And truly it was fair enough for flowers
had we but in us to assume
in march
Such white luxuriance of May for ours.
We stood a moment so
in a strange world,
Myself as one his own pretense deceives;
And then I
said the truth (and we moved on).
A young beech clinging to its last year's
leaves.
Robert Frost
A Brook In The City
The farmhouse lingers, though averse to square
With the new city
street it has to wear
A number in. But what about the brook
That held the
house as in an elbow-crook?
I ask as one who knew the brook, its
strength
And impulse, having dipped a finger length
And made it leap my
knuckle, having tossed
A flower to try its currents where they
crossed.
The meadow grass could be cemented down
From growing under
pavements of a town;
The apple trees be sent to hearth-stone flame.
Is
water wood to serve a brook the same?
How else dispose of an immortal
force
No longer needed? Staunch it at its source
With cinder loads dumped
down? The brook was thrown
Deep in a sewer dungeon under stone
In fetid
darkness still to live and run --
And all for nothing it had ever
done
Except forget to go in fear perhaps.
No one would know except for
ancient maps
That such a brook ran water. But I wonder
If from its being
kept forever under,
The thoughts may not have risen that so keep
This
new-built city from both work and sleep.
Robert Frost
A Dream Pang
I had withdrawn in forest, and my song
Was swallowed up in leaves
that blew alway;
And to the forest edge you came one day
(This was my
dream) and looked and pondered long,
But did not enter, though the wish was
strong:
You shook your pensive head as who should say,
‘I dare not—too
far in his footsteps stray—
He must seek me would he undo the wrong.
Not far, but near, I stood and saw it all
Behind low boughs the
trees let down outside;
And the sweet pang it cost me not to call
And
tell you that I saw does still abide.
But ’tis not true that thus I dwelt
aloof,
For the wood wakes, and you are here for proof.
Robert Frost
tupac shakur
Tupac Amaru Shakur (June 16, 1971 – September 13, 1996), known by his stage names 2Pac (or simply Pac) and Makaveli, was an American rapper, poet and actor. Shakur has sold over 75 million albums worldwide as of 2007, making him one of the best-sellin music artists in the world. Rolling Stone Magazine named him the 86th Greatest Artist of All Time.
In addition to his career as a rap artist, he was also an actor. The themes of most of Tupac's songs are the violence and hardship in inner cities, racism, other social problems, and conflicts with other rappers during the East Coast – West Coast hip hop rivalry. Shakur began his career as a roadie, backup dancer and MC for the alternative hip hop group Digital Underground.
On September 7, 1996, Shakur was shot four times in the Las Vegas metropolitan area of Nevada. He was taken to the University Medical Center, where he died 6 days later
of respiratory failure and cardiac arrest.
In addition to his career as a rap artist, he was also an actor. The themes of most of Tupac's songs are the violence and hardship in inner cities, racism, other social problems, and conflicts with other rappers during the East Coast – West Coast hip hop rivalry. Shakur began his career as a roadie, backup dancer and MC for the alternative hip hop group Digital Underground.
On September 7, 1996, Shakur was shot four times in the Las Vegas metropolitan area of Nevada. He was taken to the University Medical Center, where he died 6 days later
of respiratory failure and cardiac arrest.