
“By myself walking,
To myself talking,
When as I ruminate
On my untoward fate,
Scarcely seem I
Alone sufficiently,
Black thoughts continually
Crowding my privacy.”
(Charles Lamb in Hypochondriacus)
Liège (B)
"Picture and text are showing the transitory character of reality"
The beauty of the industrial scene
“t was a bird of Paradise,
Over the roofs he flew.
All the children, in a trice,
Clapped their hands and cried, “How nice!”
“Look — his wings are blue!”
His body was of ruby red,
His eyes were burning gold.
All the grown-up people said,
“What a pity the creature is not dead,
For then it could be sold!””
(M. Coleridge in London town)
Seraing (B)
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