COMRADE CZAR

Always be yourself. Unless you can be Batman. Always be Batman.

Normandy, France. June 1944 CE.

 /u/photojacker

1918 CE.

Dana R. Keller

Andreas Larsson

circa 1944-1945 CE.

Zuzzah

Nashville, Tennessee 1964 CE.

/u/mygrapefruit

 May 6, 1937CE.

/u/klassixx

Azolan

AT VILLAGE lived, in days of yore,

A youth bred in Mahomet’s lore;

His well-turned limbs were formed with grace,

With blooming beauty glowed his face;

His name was Azolan, with care

The Koran he had written fair;

Was on its study ever bent,

To get it all by heart he meant.

From the most early youth his breast

By zeal for Gabriel was possessed;

This minister of the most high

Descended to him from the sky.

"The zeal that in thy bosom glows,"

Said he, “thy guardian Gabriel knows:

To Gabriel gratitude is dear,

To make your fortune I’m come here;

You’ll in short time as first divine

Of Medina and Mecca shine;

This, next to his place who is chief

Of all who hold the true belief,

Is the most high and wealthy station

In holy Mahomet’s donation.

When you your duties once begin,

Honors on all sides will pour in;

But you a solemn oath must make

The whole sex female to forsake;

To lead a life most chaste, and ne’er

But through a grate to view the fair.”

Too hastily the beauteous boy,

That he church treasures might enjoy,

Fell easily into the snare,

Nor of his folly was aware.

Our new-made imam was elate,

Seeing himself become so great;

His joy the salary enhanced,

Which was immediately advanced

by a clerk of important air,

Who with him still went share and share.

No joy can dignity supply,

Nor wealth, should love his aid deny.

Amina fair by chance he spies,

With youthful bloom and charming eyes;

He loves Amina, she in turn

For him feels love’s flame equal burn.

Each morning as the day returned,

The youth, who with love’s flames still burned,

Being by his cursed oath enchained,

Of his sad slavery complained,

Avowing freely in his heart,

That he had played a foolish part.

"Then, Medina, farewell," he cried,

"Mecca, vain pomp and foolish pride;

Amina, mistress of my breast,

We’ll both live in my village blessed.”

From heaven the archangel made descent,

Severely to reproach him bent:

The tender lover thus replies:

"Do but behold my mistress’ eyes;

I find of me you’ve made a jest,

I’m by your contract quite distressed;

With all you gave I’ll freely part,

I ask alone Amina’s heart.

The prudent and the sacred lore

Of Mahomet I must adore;

Love’s joys he grants to the elect,

Nay, he allows them to expect

Aminas and eternal love,

In his bright Paradise above.

To heaven again, dear Gabriel, go,

My zeal for you shall still o’erflow;

To the empyrean then repair;

Without my love I’d not go there.

-Voltaire

A Madame du Chatelet

If YOU would have me love once more,

The blissful age of love restore;

From wine’s free joys, and lovers’ cares,

Relentless time, who no man spares,

Urges me quickly to retire,

And no more to such bliss aspire.

From such austerity exact,

Let’s, if we can, some good extract;

Whose way of thinking with this age

Suits not, can ne’er be deemed a sage.

Let sprightly youth its follies gay,

Its follies amiable display;

Life to two moments is confined,

Let one to wisdom be consigned.

You sweet delusions of my mind,

Still to my ruling passion kind,

Which always brought a sure relief

To life’s accurst companion, grief.

Will you forever from me fly,

And must I joyless, friendless die?

No mortal e’er resigns his breath

I see, without a double death;

Who loves, and is beloved no more,

His hapless fate may well deplore;

Life’s loss may easily be borne,

Of love bereft man is forlorn.

'Twas thus those pleasures I lamented,

Which I so oft in youth repented;

My soul replete with soft desire,

Vainly regretted youthful fire.

But friendship then, celestial maid,

From heaven descended to my aid;

Less lively than the amorous flame,

Although her tenderness the same.

The charms of friendship I admired,

My soul was with new beauty fired;

I then made one in friendship’s train,

But destitute of love, complain.

 -Voltaire

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“Here now”
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Battle of the Trident

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Battle of the Trident

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Natalie Dormer

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