Who is George Santayana

George SantayanaA drawing of George Santayana from
Time magazine (1936)BornJorge Agustín Nicolás Ruiz de Santayana y Borrás
(1863-12-16)December 16, 1863
Madrid, Spain
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George Santayana Poems

  • Sonnet Vii
    I would I might forget that I am I,
    And break the heavy chain that binds me fast,
    Whose links about myself my deeds have cast.
    What in the bodyâ??s tomb doth buried lie ...
  • Sonnet Xliii
    The candor of the gods is in thy gaze,
    The strength of Diane in thy virgin hand,
    Commanding as the goddess might command,
    And lead her lovers into higher ways. ...
  • Before A Statue Of Achilles

    Behoild Pelides with his yellow hair,
    Proud child of Thetis, hero loved of Jove; ...
  • The Power Of Art
    Not human art, but living gods alone
    Can fashion beauties that by changing live,--
    Her buds to spring, his fruits to autumn give,
    To earth her fountains in her heart of stone; ...
  • Mont Brevent
    O dweller in the valley, lift thine eyes
    To where, above the drift of cloud, the stone
    Endures in silence, and to God alone
    Upturns its furrowed visage, and is wise. ...
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Top 10 most used topics by George Santayana

Heart 11 Happy 9 Light 8 Earth 8 Heaven 8 Life 8 I Love You 7 Love 7 World 7 Summer 6

George Santayana Quotes

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Comments about George Santayana

  • Rnfayemdrd: “there is no cure for birth and death save to enjoy the interval.” — george santayana happy birthday ruru
  • Mceee16: the wisest mind hath something yet to learn. -george santayana happy birthday ruru
  • Rnsurigaodelnor: "there is no cure for birth and death save to enjoy the interval." - george santayana happy birthday ruru
  • Mightypenblog: the truth is cruel, but it can be loved, and it makes free though who have loved it. ~philosopher george santayana
  • Vippusao: 1918 — spanish flu. “those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” -george santayana
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Poem of the day

Robert Service Poem
The Three Bares
 by Robert Service

Ma tried to wash her garden slacks but couldn't get 'em clean
And so she thought she'd soak 'em in a bucket o' benzine.
It worked all right. She wrung 'em out then wondered what she'd do
With all that bucket load of high explosive residue.
She knew that it was dangerous to scatter it around,
For Grandpa liked to throw his lighted matches on the ground.
Somehow she didn't dare to pour it down the kitchen sink,
And what the heck to do with it, poor Ma jest couldn't think.

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