Angry at first, she tells him to leave, but he apologizes and pleads to be given another chance — to let him love her again.
She cries as he holds her in his arms, and later that night they make love. In the morning, Charlotte recites to him lines from a poem: "The stars are soft as flowers, and as near; the hills are webs of shadow, slowly spun; no separate leaf or single blade is here — all blend to one.
- The Olmec Gospels.
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At the hospital, Will learns that the tumor has progressed and that she may only have a few weeks to live. In the coming days, Will searches for a specialist who can perform the necessary heroic surgery to save her life. He turns to his daughter for help, and she finds a specialist who agrees to perform the surgery when the time comes. On Christmas morning, Charlotte wakes up and hears Will decorating the house and terrace. As she prepares to bring him his Christmas gift, Charlotte collapses.
She is rushed to the hospital and the specialist is called. At the hospital, Will comes to her side and whispers to her lines from a poem: "Time cannot break the bird's wing from the bird. Bird and wing together go down, one feather.
No thing that ever flew, not the lark, not you, can die as others do. Will, his friends, Lisa, and Charlotte's grandmother wait during the long hours of surgery. Outside the hospital, seagulls fly off into the snowy skies over the city. Finally, the specialist emerges from surgery, and as he approaches it is clear from his expression that he could not save her. Back at his apartment, Will finds Charlotte's Christmas gift lying on the floor — a small box with the hat stem she designed for him. Opening the box, he finds the watch she took from him on their first date.
He stands at his window weeping, holding the box closely to his chest. The following summer on a small boat on Central Park Lake , Will is holding his newborn grandson in his arms as his daughter Lisa looks on with a loving smile. Will notices a swan, and then a reflection in the water of a young woman walking over the Bow Bridge. Father, daughter, and grandson drift peacefully on the lake. It was produced by Mitchell Leib and Peter Afterman. Autumn in New York received generally negative reviews from film critics. The site's general consensus reads, "Although the film isn't as bad as feared it wasn't pre-screened for reviews , it's not that good, either.
Most noticeable flaws are the sappy romantic cliches and lack of chemistry between Gere and Ryder. Emanuel Levy from Variety gave the film a negative review, writing: " Autumn in New York is not a bad picture, just utterly banal. Desperately eager to register as a love affair in the mold of Hollywood's classics, Joan Chen 's tediously sappy romantic meller is a kind of modern-day Love Story , with a "new" twist: The casting of Richard Gere as a suave lover old enough to be Winona Ryder 's father.
MGM release, which went into theaters without a press screening, should enjoy a decent opening due to an aggressive marketing campaign targeted at young susceptible femmes, but tearjerker should be out of sight long before the season in which its pedestrian story is set. The gentle humanism of Chen's touch is much in evidence here, yet she can't undo the howler at the movie's center — namely, that Gere's serial dater has conveniently chosen to fall in love with the one young woman in Manhattan who won't be around in six months anyway.
Peter Rainer of NYmag wrote that Joan Chen had a 'lovely sense of film rhythm and a sophisticated eye for luxe effects, but she fell into a vat of goo and there's no climbing out of it'. What graciousness and what beauty? What life-bestowing!
- Poems of Passion!
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What grace! If anyone does without that, woe- what err, what suffering! Oh fly , of fly, O my soul-bird, fly to your primordial home! You have escaped from the cage now- your wings are spread in the air.
Oh travel from brackish water now to the fountain of life! Return from the place of the sandals now to the high seat of souls! Go on! How long shall we here in the dust-world like children fill our skirts With earth and with stones without value, with broken shards without worth? Call out, O soul, to proclaim now that you are rules and king!
You have the grace of the answer, you know the question as well! Make yourself My fool. Stop trying to be the sun and become a speck! Dwell at My door and be homeless. Mathnawi V. From beyond the stars and void of space.
Whispers of Autumn, Love, and Reflection
Transcendent, Pure, Of unimaginable beauty, Bringing with you the essence of love. You transform all who are touched by you. Mundane concerns, troubles, and sorrows dissolve in your presence, Bringing joy to ruler and ruled To peasant and king. Through your love existence and nonexistence merge. All opposites unite. All that is profane becomes sacred again. A strange passion is moving in my head. My heart has become a bird which searches in the sky.
Every part of me goes in different directions. Is it really so that the one I love is everywhere? From the beginning of my life I have been looking for your face but today I have seen it. Today I have seen the charm, the beauty, the unfathomable grace of the face that I was looking for. Today I have found you and those who laughed and scorned me yesterday are sorry that they were not looking as I did.
I am bewildered by the magnificence of your beauty and wish to see you with a hundred eyes. My heart has burned with passion and has searched forever for this wondrous beauty that I now behold. Your fragrant breath like the morning breeze has come to the stillness of the garden You have breathed new life into me I have become your sunshine and also your shadow. My arrow of love has arrived at the target I am in the house of mercy and my heart is a place of prayer.
I will beguile him with the soul. What is there that is not his, that I may beguile him thereby? The arrow of his glance needs not a bow that I should beguile the shaft of his gaze with a bow. He is not prisoner of the world, fettered to this world of earth, that I should beguile him with gold of the kingdom of the world.
The Walt Whitman Archive
He is an angel, though in form he is a man; he is not lustful that I should beguile him with women. Angels start away from the house wherein this form is, so how should I beguile him with such a form and likeness? He does not take a flock of horses, since he flies on wings; his food is light, so how should I beguile him with bread?
He is not a merchant and trafficker in the market of the world that I should beguile him with enchantment of gain and loss.
Whispers In Autumn by Thinking-Silence on DeviantArt
He is not veiled that I should make myself out sick and utter sighs, to beguile him with lamentation. I will bind my head and bow my head, for I have got out of hand; I will not beguile his compassion with sickness or fluttering. He is not a seeker of fame, a prince addicted to poets, that I should beguile him with verses and lyrics and flowing poetry. The glory of the unseen form is too great for me to beguile it with blessing or Paradise. Shams-e Tabriz, who is his chosen and beloved — perchance I will beguile him with this same pole of the age. Wendy, thank you! I am glad that you like it.
To me, autumn comes as a relief every year, it is my favorite season, too. Such beautiful finds! They go very well together. Please say a few words if you feel like it - I will be very happy to read your comment. Sunday, September 4, Autumn is Here. I was in the mood to look at some works by old Flemish painters today.
I think that this one, by Frans Snyders, is my favorite at this point - an epitome of ripe and mellow autumn. Note the cat on the right! I also made an Etsy Treasury today that reflects the same mood, even if the color match is not perfect.
Related Whispers of Autumn, Love, and Reflection
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