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[23 May 2008|11:12am] |
"Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously.... Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us."
Valentines day is tomorrow! Oh joy. Not to mention, my birthday is the 1st so that'll be coming up here soon. Mum and Dad are already trying to get me to tell them what I want. I can't really think of anything though.
"So come with me, where dreams are born, and time is never planned. Just think of happy things, and your heart will fly on wings, forever in Never Never Land!"
Hook: If I were you, I'd give up!
Peter Pan: If you were me...I'd be ugly!
I suppose I could go through a list of books that I want. My copy of the Iliad did get ruined and I would love to read that again. Think I'll do that after dinner tonight.
Time for class.
PDH
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[18 May 2008|12:49pm] |
Well, I thought this was going to be fun.
Didn't realize I was that bad to be around.
[Hexed to Self [Friends could break it]]
Am I really that aweful to be around?
I don't understand why she hates me so much. I don't believe I've done anything to her. At least not that I can think of. I reckon Vaisey isn't to thrilled either.
I'm nice to everyone.
Bloody hell, why should I care so much of what she thinks? I don't even know her. Well if she wants to have a bad attitude about it, I can too.
[End]
Paisley
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[20 Apr 2008|03:58pm] |
Ginny Weasley! One of my best friends. I wrote you a story.
There was once a little mouse named Desmond Michael Carman Jr. He lived in a cave by the ocean. Every day little Desmond Michael Carman Jr. would go out and watch the seagulls fly the thermals of the ocean air. Poor Desmond Michael Carman Jr. was a jealous mouse, he wished he could fly like the seagulls.
Finally he decided he was going to build a machine that will let him fly. He gathered twigs and leaves to make wings that he would wrap around his little mouse arms and back. He climbed a rock and took a giant leap. But sadly his invention did not work and he fell into the sand.
Poor Desmond Michael Carman Jr. wept because all he wanted was to fly. As a seagull flew by, he paused hearing the poor mouse. The seagull asked Desmond Michael Jr. what was wrong and when the mouse told him, the seagull formed an idea. He told Desmond Michael Jr. that he would return shortly and to stay put. When the seagull finally returned, Desmond Michael Jr. looked up and saw that the seagull had a small harnest with string that tied around the seagull's body. Desmond Michael Jr. strapped himself into the harnest and the next thing he knew, the seagull and carried him into the air. Happy Desmond Michael Jr. spread out his little mouse arms and looked down at the ocean below. He finally got a chance to feel what it was like fly.
The end.
Hurry back Ginny!
Paisley D. H.
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[21 Mar 2008|05:07pm] |
Who's going to the meeting tonight then? Ginny, is it alright if I sit with you? Not sure who else I will know that'll be there.
I'm bored.
Why does your stomach always growl when it's time to be quiet? Sorry for the ones that had to sit by me during Charms today.
I need food.
The end.
Paisley Dawn Howell
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[08 Mar 2008|11:18am] |
Proud to report my toes are healed! Course they're still a little bruised. Didn't realize a bruise could get that dark shade of purple. But I reckon you guys didn't need to know that.
Enjoy this!
'Twas noontide of summer,
And mid-time of night;
And stars, in their orbits,
Shone pale, thro' the light
Of the brighter, cold moon,
'Mid planets her slaves,
Herself in the Heavens,
Her beam on the waves.
I gazed awhile
On her cold smile;
Too cold- too cold for me-
There pass'd, as a shroud,
A fleecy cloud,
And I turned away to thee,
Proud Evening Star,
In thy glory afar,
And dearer thy beam shall be;
For joy to my heart
Is the proud part
Thou bearest in Heaven at night,
And more I admire
Thy distant fire,
Than that colder, lowly light.
Edgar Allen Poe. Brilliant. Slightly insane but brilliant.
Paisley
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[25 Feb 2008|11:16pm] |
Merlin's beard! My bloody foot is still sore! Thank very much. (p.s. folks that was sarcasm)
I won't even begin to describ what my toes look like, trust me people you really don't want to know. They bloody hurt like hell though. Honestly, how they aren't broken is beyond me.
Alright, I need to stop complaining so much, we all know how I'm not good with dealing pain. Found something some of you might like. I hope you do, because I bloody love this poem. Not to mention, it's a good story.
Alright well forgot how bloody long the Lady of Shalott was, so I don't think I'll post the whole thing, but here's the first three stanzas.
On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And through the field the road run by
To many-tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.
Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.
By the margin, willow veil'd,
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?
Enjoy. I can't bloody believe I almost told someone I fancy-
Paisley D. "Very bruised Toes" Howell
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[09 Feb 2008|09:30pm] |
Woah! Did hell freeze over?
Bet it's nice for the lot down there. All that heat was bound to get annoying.
[Private to Vaisey]
Now, I know we didn't exactly set the terms for our bet. But you did win, so what do you want?
[End Private]
I suppose anything is possible in this world.
Paisley
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[07 Feb 2008|03:44pm] |
Enjoy!
In western lands beneath the Sun
The flowers may rise in Spring,
The trees may bud, the waters run,
The merry finches sing.
Or there maybe 'tis cloudless night
And swaying beeches bear
The Elven-stars as jewels white
Amid their branching hair.
Though here at journey's end I lie
In darkness buried deep,
Beyond all towers strong and high,
Beyond all mountains steep,
Above all shadows rides the Sun
And Stars for ever dwell:
I will not say the Day is done,
Nor bid the Stars farewell.
Whoever can tell me what book this is from, I'll save a dance for you.
Oh, speaking of which. Who'd like to go with me?
Paisley
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[02 Feb 2008|10:43pm] |
I think I'm going to make a poster or something for the Quidditch match. I haven't done that in a while, used to do it all the time last year.
Now would be a good time I think to remind SOME people that there are certain things you can't do in the halls. Like picking fights. I swear I've had to break up three fights in one bloody week!
Oh, my book is missing. Yes, again. I thought I left it in the library but when I went to check it wasn't there. So if anyone sees a copy of Peter Pan, check the insides and if there's a lot of notes then it's mine and I would like to have it back. Thank you.
I decided to go to the dance.
Paisley
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