The new music may be good, the new music may be bad — but unlike possibly everyone else alive right now, Lana Del Rey seems relaxed, serene, having the time of her life, publicly unencumbered by the fraught, endless argument about Trump, Trump opponents, Trump supporters, the role of government, the state of diplomacy, the idea of America, etc. So why is she floating above it all? What makes her different now than before? The premise of every Lana Del Rey song is usually a combination of the following: a.
I am crazy, b. I am high, c. I am great, d. Our tragic love endures. Lana Del Rey does not lay awake in the early hours, interrogating her own motives and worrying about wanting a little too much. In Lana Del Rey songs, there is but one doomed, eternal romance.
First off, Lana Del Rey tells you upfront, guns ablaze, all about her deal. But more to the point: A line like that would imply imbalance — that Lana Del Rey had been left unwanted. Will you still love Lana Del Rey when she is no longer young and beautiful? She knows you will. He can report, As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt The newest state.
Hail, brave friend! Say to the king the knowledge of the broil As thou didst leave it. Sergeant Doubtful it stood; As two spent swimmers, that do cling together And choke their art.
The merciless Macdonwald-- Worthy to be a rebel, for to that The multiplying villanies of nature Do swarm upon him--from the western isles Of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied; And fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling, Show'd like a rebel's whore: but all's too weak: For brave Macbeth--well he deserves that name-- Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel, Which smoked with bloody execution, Like valour's minion carved out his passage Till he faced the slave; Which ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him, Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the chaps, And fix'd his head upon our battlements.
Sergeant As whence the sun 'gins his reflection Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break, So from that spring whence comfort seem'd to come Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark: No sooner justice had with valour arm'd Compell'd these skipping kerns to trust their heels, But the Norweyan lord surveying vantage, With furbish'd arms and new supplies of men Began a fresh assault.
Sergeant Yes; As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion.
- Sir Launfal?
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If I say sooth, I must report they were As cannons overcharged with double cracks, so they Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe: Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds, Or memorise another Golgotha, I cannot tell. But I am faint, my gashes cry for help. Go get him surgeons. Exit Sergeant, attended. Enter the three Witches First Witch Where hast thou been, sister? Second Witch Killing swine. Third Witch Sister, where thou? First Witch A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap, And munch'd, and munch'd, and munch'd 'Give me,' quoth I: 'Aroint thee, witch!
Second Witch I'll give thee a wind. First Witch Thou'rt kind. Third Witch And I another.
First Witch I myself have all the other, And the very ports they blow, All the quarters that they know I' the shipman's card. I will drain him dry as hay: Sleep shall neither night nor day Hang upon his pent-house lid; He shall live a man forbid: Weary se'nnights nine times nine Shall he dwindle, peak and pine: Though his bark cannot be lost, Yet it shall be tempest-tost. Look what I have.
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Second Witch Show me, show me. First Witch Here I have a pilot's thumb, Wreck'd as homeward he did come. Drum within.
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Are not Those in commission yet return'd? But I have spoke With one that saw him die: who did report That very frankly he confess'd his treasons, Implored your highness' pardon and set forth A deep repentance: nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it; he died As one that had been studied in his death To throw away the dearest thing he owed, As 'twere a careless trifle. When I burned in desire to question them further, they made themselves air, into which they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came missives from the king, who all-hailed me 'Thane of Cawdor;' by which title, before, these weird sisters saluted me, and referred me to the coming on of time, with 'Hail, king that shalt be!
Lay it to thy heart, and farewell. Enter a Messenger. Hautboys and torches. BANQUO This guest of summer, The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, By his loved mansionry, that the heaven's breath Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze, Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle: Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed, The air is delicate. Enter a Sewer, and divers Servants with dishes and service, and pass over the stage. But in these cases We still have judgment here; that we but teach Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return To plague the inventor: this even-handed justice Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice To our own lips.
He's here in double trust; First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, Strong both against the deed; then, as his host, Who should against his murderer shut the door, Not bear the knife myself.
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Besides, this Duncan Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking-off; And pity, like a naked new-born babe, Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, horsed Upon the sightless couriers of the air, Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, That tears shall drown the wind.
I have no spur To prick the sides of my intent, but only Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself And falls on the other. Court of Macbeth's castle. There's husbandry in heaven; Their candles are all out. Take thee that too. A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, And yet I would not sleep: merciful powers, Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature Gives way to in repose! It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman, Which gives the stern'st good-night. He is about it: The doors are open; and the surfeited grooms Do mock their charge with snores: I have drugg'd their possets, That death and nature do contend about them, Whether they live or die.
The attempt and not the deed Confounds us.
fensterstudio.ru/components/hyrahyro/rynyc-como-hackear.php I laid their daggers ready; He could not miss 'em. Had he not resembled My father as he slept, I had done't. Knocking within. Enter a Porter Porter Here's a knocking indeed!
If a man were porter of hell-gate, he should have old turning the key. ROSS Ah, good father, Thou seest, the heavens, as troubled with man's act, Threaten his bloody stage: by the clock, 'tis day, And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp: Is't night's predominance, or the day's shame, That darkness does the face of earth entomb, When living light should kiss it?
Old Man 'Tis unnatural, Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last, A falcon, towering in her pride of place, Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd. ROSS And Duncan's horses--a thing most strange and certain-- Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race, Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out, Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would make War with mankind. Old Man 'Tis said they eat each other. Here comes the good Macduff. The palace. If there come truth from them-- As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine-- Why, by the verities on thee made good, May they not be my oracles as well, And set me up in hope?
But hush! Sennet sounded.