Aaj AkkhaaN Waris Shah Nu

aaj aakhaN Waris Shah nuuN, kitoN kabraaN vichchoN bol,
te aaj kitab-e ishq daa koii aglaa varkaa phol

ik roii sii dhii punjaab dii, tuuN likh likh maare vaen,
aaj lakhaaN dhiiaaN rondiaa, tainuN waris shah nuN kahen

uTh dardmandaaN diaa dardiaa, uth takk apnaa Punjaab
aaj bele lashaaN bichhiaaN te lahu dii bharii chenab

kise ne panjaN paniaN vichch dittii zahar ralaa
te unhaaN paniiaaN dharat nuuN dittaa paanii laa

is zarkhez zamiin de luun luun phuttia zaher
gitth gitth charhiaaN laaliaN fuuT fuuT charhiaa kaher

veh valliissii vha pher, van van vaggii jaa,
ohne har ik vans di vanjhalii ditti naag banaa

pehlaa dang madaariaN, mantar gaye guaach,
dooje dang di lagg gayii, jane khane nuN laag

laagaaN kiile lok muNh, bus phir dang hi dang,
palo palii punjaab de, neele pae gaye ang

gale`oN tutt`e geet phir, takaleon tuttii tand,
trinjanoN tuttiaaN saheliaaN, chaRakhRre ghuukar band

sane sej de beriaaN, luddaN dittiaaN rohr,
sane daliaan peengh aj, piplaaN dittii toR

jitthe vajdii sii phuuk pyaar dii, ve oh vanjhalii gayii guaach
raanjhe de sab veer aaj, bhul gaye uhadii jaach

dhartii te lahoo varsiyaa, kabraaN paiaaN choan,
preet diaaN shaahzaadiaaN, aaj vichch mazaaraaN roan

aaj sabbhe `Qaido` ban gaye, husn ishq de chor
aaj kitthoN liaaiye labbh ke waris shah ik hor

aaj aakhaN waris shah nuuN, kitoN kabraan vichchoN bol,
te aaj kitaab-e ishq daa, koii aglaa varkaa phol

Destroyer: Farrar, Straus, Giroux (Sea of Tears)

It was back amongst the living,
your smile was giving me a thrill.
Enough to come so close to closing the deal (the steal of a century...)
A century stolen from our hearts to a house on the hill.

But if that is what it takes,
if that is what it takes,
if that is what it takes
to be a stone, a stone's throw from your throne,
no man has ever hung from the rafters of a second home.
No man has ever hung from the rafters of a second home.

It's true,
I needed you more back when I was poor:
the wealthy dowager (the patroness), she guessed it
the answer wasn't "yes."
But her maxims were fine, the ethos that flew about her mind
like swallows in search of a
burned-down bell tower church.

But if that is what it takes,
if that is what it takes,
if that is what it takes
to be a stone, a stone's throw from your throne,
no man has ever hung at the temporary age of 24, both feet on the floor,
listening to the bonafide stasis of sound,
the eaves dripping yesterday's
ill-timed August rain,

if there is such a thing as ill-timed August rain...

Crime and Punishment - pg. 118

ZOOSIMOV was a tall, fat man with a puffy, colourless, clean-shaven face and straight flaxen hair. He wore spectacles, and a big gold ring on his fat finger. He was twenty seven. He had on a light grey fashionable loose coat, light summer trousers, and everything about him loose, fashionable and spick and span; his linn was irreproachable, his watch-chain was massive. In manner he was slow and, as it were, nonchalant, anad at the same time studiously free and easy; he made efforts to conceal his self-importance, but it was apparent at every instant. All his acquaintances found him tedious, but said he was clever at his work.

Crime and Punishment - pg. 84

He began, hurriedly dressing, "If I'm lost, I am lost, I don't care! Shall I put the sock on?" he suddenly wondered, "it will get dustier still and the traces will be gone."

Crime and Punishment - pg. 70

He had not a minute more to lose. He pulled the axe quite out, swung it with both arms, scarcely conscious of himself, and almost without effort, almost mechanically, brought the blunt side down on her head. He seemed not to use his own strength in this. But as soon as he had once brought the axe down, his strength returned to him.

Crime and Punishment - pg. 69

The old woman glanced for a moment at the pledge, but at once stared eyes of her uninvited visitor. She looked intently, maliciously and mistrustfully. A minute passed; he even fancied something like a sneer in her eyes, as though she had already guessed everything. He felt that he was losing his head, that he was almost frightened, so frightened that if she were to look like that and not say a word for another half-minute, he thought he would have run away from her.

Crime and Punishment - pg. 49

In a morbid condition of the brain, dreams often have a singular actuality, vividness and extraordinary semblance of realty. At times monstrous images are created, but the setting and the whole picture are so truthlike and filled with details so delicate, so unexpected, but so artistically consistent, that the dreamer, were he an artist like Pushkin or Turgenev even, could never have invented them in the waking state. Such sick dreams always remain long in the memory and make a powerful impression on the overwrought and deranged nervous system.

Crime and Punishment - pg. 4

The old woman stood facing him in silence and looking inquiringly at him. She was a diminutive, withered-up old woman of sixty, with sharp malignant eyes and a sharp little nose. Her colourless, somewhat grizzled hair was thickly smeared with oil, and she wore no kerchief over it. Round her thin long neck, which looked like a hen's leg, was knotted some sort of flannel rag, and, in spite of the heat, there hung flapping on her shoulders, a mangy fur cape, yellow with age. The old woman coughed and groaned at every instant.

To Do List

• Teaching Philosophy Statement
• Apps
• Chapter 3 Revision
  

The High Window - pg. 121

"The trouble with revolutions," he said, "is that they get in the hands of the wrong people."

Crime and Punishment - Opening

PART I
CHAPTER I

ON an excepionally hot evening early in July a young man came out of the garret in which he lodged in S. Place and walked slowly, as though in hesitation, towards K. bridge.

Translated from
the Russian by
CONSTANCE GARNETT


NEW YORK
THE MACMILLN COMPANY
1951


ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


PRINTED IN ENGLAND

The High Window - pg. 104

Breeze looked at me very steadily. Then he sighed. Then he picked the glass up and tasted it and sighed again and shook his head sideways with a half smile; the way a man does when you give him a drink and he needs it very badly and it is just right and the first swallow is like a peek into a cleaner, sunnier, brighter world.

The High Window - pg. 68

The door was stopped by his leg. I pushed hard and edged around it and got in. I bent down to push two fingers into the side of his neck against the big artery. No artery throbbed there, or even whispered. Nothing at all. The skin was icy. It couldn't have been icy. I just thought it was. I straightened up and leaned my back against the door and made hard fists in my pockets and smelled the cordite fumes. The baseball game was still going on, but through two closed doors it sounded remote.
I stood and looked down at him. Nothing in that, Marlowe, nothing at all. Nothing for you here, nothing. You didn't even know him. Get out , get out fast.