Like a car? Or maybe a book? Or maybe an actor or a singer. A classic. A Philistine. A Renaissance Man. A modern man. And empty hug. A silent kiss. A loud look. Words without speaking. That’s what I think about.
Classic books, classic music, classic movies. I love them all. I love the violin solo from Schindler’s List, The Breakfast Club, Sixteen Candles, and Shakespeare. Classics. I love them.
My music library is filled with classics. A variety of genres by a variety of musicians. I enjoy Salt n Pepa to Sinatra, Peter Gabriel to Merchants of Venus.
Yeah, I really did fall into his arms. I looked right in his eyes, and blushed too. We didn’t move- I was frozen, trapped in his gaze. Love at first sight.
She sits and stares out across the crowded room from her spot on the bleachers, the coldness of the steal bleeding into the back of her thighs through the gauzy white material of her dress. “A timeless classic”, it turns out, was the saleslady’s way of saying “This dress is sold old-fashioned, that when you wear it, you’ll get old waiting for someone to ask you to dance.”
this classic is the only thing that holds us together. a word, lost in a sea of similar words. it slips over the tongue easily and into an existence that is uncertain and full of fear. somewhere along the way is a lifeline but the chances of finding it are so fucking slim at given moments in time that it is just like being alone. me and you, standing alone.
There’s no reason why you shouldn’t buy the Classic flavor of absoltuely everything… or at least that’s what I thought until I met that awful woman. She would never let me buy anything that she claimed was “bland,” “unoriginal,” “boring.” I can’t believe I let her talk me into this nonsense, but I did, for several years of my life. Years that I will never get back.
one day i want to be a classic. People will remember me, respect me. I will be timeless. I will be immortalized. I want that– I want that reverence. I want to be a classic like Dostoyevsky and Burgess. I want to be remembered.
there are movies that i like, they remind me of curling up and discovering bigger worlds during high school. Movies on a warm Christmas night where I was allowed to sit in front of the television and just savor life and all of its moments. Sitting on the cusp of something wonderful. I’m allowed to be half formed, half real and it’s all right that I am here without anything
classic. like classic music? classic times? classic themes? maybe it means vintage. or perhaps it means simple. i remember when things were simple..simple like bread and cheese. back when love was a fairytale and drugs was advil. sigh.
music. classical music is the most refreshing, restoring genre of music ever created by man. everyone, no matter who you are or what your tastes are should at least try to appreciate the beautiful noise of string instruments and full orchestra. you’ll be surprised how much you discover about yourself.
The classic story. A boy meets a girl. Girl likes boy. Boy likes girl. They hold hands. They kiss. They have sex. They grow old together and die. The way the world should be.
Ah the classics! why do we always have to put things in time? why can’t everything be classic? Wouldn’t it be better if time wasn’t any kind of measurement? any kind of boundary that we have to stay in? Why time?
No one likes classical music any more. They think it is boring, that there are no lyrics, so therefore it makes no sense. Do they realize it’s the foundation for all modern music? Do they realize that it has form, it has lyrics, it has composition, it has melody, it has a bass line, it is the pure epitome of good music? I think not.
Classical music never really did the trick for her. Of course, she could recognize its complete beauty and grace and wonder of composure but it just wasn’t what she wanted to listen to or play for that matter.
It was a classic tale set upon the moon beams and feather wings of the rolling tide, but, somehow, She just could not bare to sink further into the cliche quicksand that presented himself before her, bent down on one knee, cradling a black velvet jewelry box. Slowly, and eerily methodical, as if he had done this before, her lover opened the box, reveling a maginificant black and white diamond ring nestled gently between two thick lipped pillows.
“Perhaps,” she thought, “…perhaps, it won’t be so bad. There’s got to be something to this if most of the entire world’s population partakes in this institution…marriage…”. Quickly, and with quite some force, she killed the thought, for she knew where it would lead. This was not the first time she had analyzed this situation. She knew, deep in the valleys and creveses of her heart, she could never truly commit herself to anyone in any form of formal engagement. She knew that if she commited herself to marriage that she had just signed forth an inpenetrable contract to have children. To breed, reproduce, to multiply, to let go of individuality and mystery, to give way to societal pressures and become, lest she had forgotten, static.
“it’s a classic” he said as he reached around me and grabbed the record. I could smell his oldspice cologne mixed with motorcycle fumes on his white vneck shirt. His hand grazed up my arm. I turned around, looking into his deep blue eyes; mesmorized. He leaned in, holding me with careful arms. “I love you,” he whispered just as his lips found mine.
“That was a classic!”
When really, it wasn’t,
But that’s one of the most used quotes
Between my brother and I.
An inside joke, if you will.
And that is a big deal.
For my brother and I.
It’s the classic, clique, and utterly stupid scenario. Like he doesn’t really know I’m there, wanting him and needing him. The kind where the poor, confused person is left wondering if the other will ever think of them in the way they want. In the special, ‘I love you’ kind of way.
it was a classic story. boy meets girl. but then boy left and started a classic story of his own. and she was alone. loving the same boy. haunted. and broken.classic.
it’s like holding onto a little bit of the old and twisting it all up in the new. a classic is something that always withstands the test of time.
sometimes I wish we could take pictures of ourselves kissing, so that we could make them black and white and make it classic — because that is what we are, classic. we are forever, but mutable and changeable and everything in between — but always us. we are always the love we put into life, and that makes us classic.
If only we could be this forever, but I know we will be this forever, so hold me tight and kiss me goodnight; carry me over, take my hand and we’ll cross over into the land of sunrise.
classic. what does that even mean? classical music, classic books, or a classic old movie is what first comes to my mind. a classic book to me would have to be gone with the wind. “frankly my dear I don’t give a damn.” great line. however, classical music is completely different, with composers such as Mozart and Beethoven being the spotlight of that era.
the classics are so classic liek classical music blowing in my ear like you just did. quintessential seminal classics are the most important things. new is for losers. classic is for the classy. i like how it feels in my tongue when i say it :)
The classics are the best. Music, TV, movies–there’s a lot of good stuff out there. Oh, I’m not saying there aren’t good things that can’t be said about newer, “hipper” stuff, but there’s definitely something special about books or shows or songs that were ground-breaking and opened the way for others to follow.
claaassic. hmm like stuff in the 80s. or those things that you can alwaays wear and alwaays pull of. like a little black dress. or those perfect heels. classic movies are myy favorite. like 500 days of summer. they’re just great.
Classic. Old movies, early memories. Stuff that happened before you were born.
You’re always left out, it’s never from you’re time.
It’s all trivial and meaningless and ‘pop’ now. Everyone reflects on old classics when you’re life is just a poor knockoff
Classic… the one word that somewhat describes everything I go through with in regard to relationships, by no means magical, just somewhat a classic story of falling in love and getting fucked over in the end. Hmmm is it ironic this was the word of the day, considering the situation I’m about to get into. Hope not.
It was a classic friendship. We truly understood each other and enjoyed the others presence. But the time had come for me to leave. And here she was, stuck in our small town without me. We were sisters in a town where blood ties were only blood.
I’ve lost you in the stacks, we were here to research for our Classics class, but now I’ve gone haywire and I can’t find you. The panic comes, settles in, and stays, and as usual you’re not here to hold my hand and tell me it’ll be okay. I wonder if I’m a bother to you, I really do, because I think I might be. I think you’ve escaped just in time. You’re over in romance, I see, and you’re risking your heart for another’s because mine wasn’t stable enough.
Everything about him shouted ‘classic’: his sixties jeans, faded and ripped with care to evoke the perfect sensation of wear; his hair, short and shaved near the ears, well-kept but not gelled; and the violin case strapped to his back, from shoulder to hip, corners of yellowed treble clefs sneaking out of the pocket in the front.
Classical. Classic Classic. Everyone misses the classics. 90’s, 80’s 70’s. Whatever. Not many people listen to classical music anymore though. Unless they’re trying to be completely non-conformist ’cause mainstream culture is soooo uncool. What am I even saying?
The movie was a classic. And the books she read were classic, too. She also listened to nothing but classical music. Jane realized, though, that this was not interesting. She was a boring person. She didn’t understand any of the pop references. She did the same thing day in and day out.
Like a car? Or maybe a book? Or maybe an actor or a singer. A classic. A Philistine. A Renaissance Man. A modern man. And empty hug. A silent kiss. A loud look. Words without speaking. That’s what I think about.
Classic books, classic music, classic movies. I love them all. I love the violin solo from Schindler’s List, The Breakfast Club, Sixteen Candles, and Shakespeare. Classics. I love them.
That was classic! As in a joke or event that was so awesome it will go down in history. Or the event of remembering the awesome joke or event.
A classic myth, the man in the suit who lacks a face. Lurks about in the forests, blending in so neatly with the trees, luring kids towards him.
My music library is filled with classics. A variety of genres by a variety of musicians. I enjoy Salt n Pepa to Sinatra, Peter Gabriel to Merchants of Venus.
“Classic.” My best friend said.
Yeah, I really did fall into his arms. I looked right in his eyes, and blushed too. We didn’t move- I was frozen, trapped in his gaze. Love at first sight.
She sits and stares out across the crowded room from her spot on the bleachers, the coldness of the steal bleeding into the back of her thighs through the gauzy white material of her dress. “A timeless classic”, it turns out, was the saleslady’s way of saying “This dress is sold old-fashioned, that when you wear it, you’ll get old waiting for someone to ask you to dance.”
this classic is the only thing that holds us together. a word, lost in a sea of similar words. it slips over the tongue easily and into an existence that is uncertain and full of fear. somewhere along the way is a lifeline but the chances of finding it are so fucking slim at given moments in time that it is just like being alone. me and you, standing alone.
There’s no reason why you shouldn’t buy the Classic flavor of absoltuely everything… or at least that’s what I thought until I met that awful woman. She would never let me buy anything that she claimed was “bland,” “unoriginal,” “boring.” I can’t believe I let her talk me into this nonsense, but I did, for several years of my life. Years that I will never get back.
one day i want to be a classic. People will remember me, respect me. I will be timeless. I will be immortalized. I want that– I want that reverence. I want to be a classic like Dostoyevsky and Burgess. I want to be remembered.
there are movies that i like, they remind me of curling up and discovering bigger worlds during high school. Movies on a warm Christmas night where I was allowed to sit in front of the television and just savor life and all of its moments. Sitting on the cusp of something wonderful. I’m allowed to be half formed, half real and it’s all right that I am here without anything
classic. like classic music? classic times? classic themes? maybe it means vintage. or perhaps it means simple. i remember when things were simple..simple like bread and cheese. back when love was a fairytale and drugs was advil. sigh.
music. classical music is the most refreshing, restoring genre of music ever created by man. everyone, no matter who you are or what your tastes are should at least try to appreciate the beautiful noise of string instruments and full orchestra. you’ll be surprised how much you discover about yourself.
The classic story. A boy meets a girl. Girl likes boy. Boy likes girl. They hold hands. They kiss. They have sex. They grow old together and die. The way the world should be.
Ah the classics! why do we always have to put things in time? why can’t everything be classic? Wouldn’t it be better if time wasn’t any kind of measurement? any kind of boundary that we have to stay in? Why time?
No one likes classical music any more. They think it is boring, that there are no lyrics, so therefore it makes no sense. Do they realize it’s the foundation for all modern music? Do they realize that it has form, it has lyrics, it has composition, it has melody, it has a bass line, it is the pure epitome of good music? I think not.
It’s a classic notion, love. It’s just oo bad, it doesn’t live here anymore.
Classical music never really did the trick for her. Of course, she could recognize its complete beauty and grace and wonder of composure but it just wasn’t what she wanted to listen to or play for that matter.
It was a classic tale set upon the moon beams and feather wings of the rolling tide, but, somehow, She just could not bare to sink further into the cliche quicksand that presented himself before her, bent down on one knee, cradling a black velvet jewelry box. Slowly, and eerily methodical, as if he had done this before, her lover opened the box, reveling a maginificant black and white diamond ring nestled gently between two thick lipped pillows.
“Perhaps,” she thought, “…perhaps, it won’t be so bad. There’s got to be something to this if most of the entire world’s population partakes in this institution…marriage…”. Quickly, and with quite some force, she killed the thought, for she knew where it would lead. This was not the first time she had analyzed this situation. She knew, deep in the valleys and creveses of her heart, she could never truly commit herself to anyone in any form of formal engagement. She knew that if she commited herself to marriage that she had just signed forth an inpenetrable contract to have children. To breed, reproduce, to multiply, to let go of individuality and mystery, to give way to societal pressures and become, lest she had forgotten, static.
classic. this word hurts my dyslexia. oh well. classic: grease. GO GREASE LIGHTNING GO GREASE LIGHTNING! classic is not twilight, it is nietzche
“people think i’m a very classic person when my life is quite unconventional.”– Catherine Deneuve
“it’s a classic” he said as he reached around me and grabbed the record. I could smell his oldspice cologne mixed with motorcycle fumes on his white vneck shirt. His hand grazed up my arm. I turned around, looking into his deep blue eyes; mesmorized. He leaned in, holding me with careful arms. “I love you,” he whispered just as his lips found mine.
“That was a classic!”
When really, it wasn’t,
But that’s one of the most used quotes
Between my brother and I.
An inside joke, if you will.
And that is a big deal.
For my brother and I.
Disney’s classics. He loved them. Along with the colour purple, his car, and his ex. It was the last one that held her back.
It’s the classic, clique, and utterly stupid scenario. Like he doesn’t really know I’m there, wanting him and needing him. The kind where the poor, confused person is left wondering if the other will ever think of them in the way they want. In the special, ‘I love you’ kind of way.
it was a classic story. boy meets girl. but then boy left and started a classic story of his own. and she was alone. loving the same boy. haunted. and broken.classic.
it’s like holding onto a little bit of the old and twisting it all up in the new. a classic is something that always withstands the test of time.
sometimes I wish we could take pictures of ourselves kissing, so that we could make them black and white and make it classic — because that is what we are, classic. we are forever, but mutable and changeable and everything in between — but always us. we are always the love we put into life, and that makes us classic.
If only we could be this forever, but I know we will be this forever, so hold me tight and kiss me goodnight; carry me over, take my hand and we’ll cross over into the land of sunrise.
classic. what does that even mean? classical music, classic books, or a classic old movie is what first comes to my mind. a classic book to me would have to be gone with the wind. “frankly my dear I don’t give a damn.” great line. however, classical music is completely different, with composers such as Mozart and Beethoven being the spotlight of that era.
the classics are so classic liek classical music blowing in my ear like you just did. quintessential seminal classics are the most important things. new is for losers. classic is for the classy. i like how it feels in my tongue when i say it :)
The classics are the best. Music, TV, movies–there’s a lot of good stuff out there. Oh, I’m not saying there aren’t good things that can’t be said about newer, “hipper” stuff, but there’s definitely something special about books or shows or songs that were ground-breaking and opened the way for others to follow.
claaassic. hmm like stuff in the 80s. or those things that you can alwaays wear and alwaays pull of. like a little black dress. or those perfect heels. classic movies are myy favorite. like 500 days of summer. they’re just great.
the beatles. everything that was good. history… everyone wants to be a hit classic.
Classic. Old movies, early memories. Stuff that happened before you were born.
You’re always left out, it’s never from you’re time.
It’s all trivial and meaningless and ‘pop’ now. Everyone reflects on old classics when you’re life is just a poor knockoff
Classic… the one word that somewhat describes everything I go through with in regard to relationships, by no means magical, just somewhat a classic story of falling in love and getting fucked over in the end. Hmmm is it ironic this was the word of the day, considering the situation I’m about to get into. Hope not.
They tell me I’ll be singing classics.
Red velvet curtains
Red velvet gowns
and Red
Velvet
Songs.
It was a classic friendship. We truly understood each other and enjoyed the others presence. But the time had come for me to leave. And here she was, stuck in our small town without me. We were sisters in a town where blood ties were only blood.
I’ve lost you in the stacks, we were here to research for our Classics class, but now I’ve gone haywire and I can’t find you. The panic comes, settles in, and stays, and as usual you’re not here to hold my hand and tell me it’ll be okay. I wonder if I’m a bother to you, I really do, because I think I might be. I think you’ve escaped just in time. You’re over in romance, I see, and you’re risking your heart for another’s because mine wasn’t stable enough.
Everything about him shouted ‘classic’: his sixties jeans, faded and ripped with care to evoke the perfect sensation of wear; his hair, short and shaved near the ears, well-kept but not gelled; and the violin case strapped to his back, from shoulder to hip, corners of yellowed treble clefs sneaking out of the pocket in the front.
Classical. Classic Classic. Everyone misses the classics. 90’s, 80’s 70’s. Whatever. Not many people listen to classical music anymore though. Unless they’re trying to be completely non-conformist ’cause mainstream culture is soooo uncool. What am I even saying?
The movie was a classic. And the books she read were classic, too. She also listened to nothing but classical music. Jane realized, though, that this was not interesting. She was a boring person. She didn’t understand any of the pop references. She did the same thing day in and day out.