Bookworms. I don't even like the word. Still, it applies to me - I have been one as far back as I can remember and I cannot imagine life otherwise. The truth is that very few things match the pleasure of a good book and the joys, the knowledge it gives you. Don't tell me you don't have time to read. Don't tell me book lovers hide in books and forget to live; comfortable with second-hand experiences. Book lovers live a thousand lives, they write a thousand books, they travel in time and space. Book lovers are scary. They know so much, they have seen the depths of human souls, they have seen the light and touched the darkness, they have an understanding of things other people will never have.
William Styron
Sunday, 1 June 2014
Funeral blues, W. H. Auden
Based on the poem below by W. H. Auden the students created a visual presentation that was displayed on the school grounds.
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Work by Maria Beatriz and Filipa Pizarro
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