A rose by any other name would smell as sweet?

HELL NO.

Science : William Shakespeare = 1 : 0

And yet another abused bullshit phrase has been defeated.

souce plz

 

Tulips > Roses anyways.

Too bad Istanbulin Tulips were wiped out with the riots at the end of the Tulip Period of the Ottoman Empire in 1730.

 

This article lacks in sense. Are they trying to say that arbitrarily giving the same flowers different names makes them smell different, but is not an emotional reaction? That's like saying that stabbing somebody killed them, but not because of the knife.

 

What they're saying is that giving the flower a different name makes it smell differently for us, which is because of the fact that the brain identifies the smell before even getting information from the nose smelling it. And once it does, it will actually identify it differently based on what it expects to smell. Naturally, the compounds educed by the flower stay the same, but the emotions attached to the smelled object change the way how we eventually identify it.

Long thing short, when someone binds your eyes and tells you you are going to get a huge pile of a fresh mix of horse shit and piss to smell, you will be disgusted by the smell even though they actually gave you a bunch of roses.

 

Shakespeare's rose is actually a vagina. It's a metaphor. Just like the whole "to be or not to be" soliloquy is basically just a meditation on buttsex and bukkake.

So: "A rose by any other name would smell as sweet" is just Shaky's way of saying: "If you ever dump me, you filthy slut, I'll just go find me some other pootang to shove over my cork. And don't even think I'll be missing your sour swamp, biatch, a hole is a hole and my cock ain't got no eyes."

'Nuff said.

 

You know, out of the sexually disturbing things you say, that might be actually true.

 

Being told you'll have to smell a rancid pile of owl pellets doesn't exactly set the mood for a fresh bouquet.
While the rose quote could be used as a metaphor for vaginas, its use in the play was initiated by Juliet. She was saying she loved the man named Montague, not the name itself, and Romeo quickly became whipped and asked that he be newly baptised by Juliet's love. It might also be a joke about a theater of Shakespear's time, the Rose, a local rival theater to his Globe. It's said that despite the acclaimed productions, the theater itself had a smell due to certain sanitary indiscretions.

 

Yeah, it smelled like vagina.

 

Also, "to be or not to be" is about suicide, not buttsex and bukake.

 

Well, that's what I used to think as well.

 

I'm with Grakelin about the "to be or not to be" quote. "To live or to die" is the most common perception of it. Especially due to the circumstances in the scene.

The rose quote being about the vagina is humorous, however and is at least a more sensible rendition, I suppose. I'm sure it could be used in that fashion(whether or not it is). Whereas, "To be or not to be" concluding to sexual acts is extremely far-fetched in my opinion.

 

It's quite difficult to ignore most of the things he says, in a good way, sort of. I think. Regardless, Shakespeherian novelties are very much welcome, be they Floydulantly warped or otherwise.

 

HAMLET: To receive it up the butt,
or to take it up the chin--that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The semen of outrageous men on the face
Or to position the arse against a sea of troubles
And by opposing end them. To spit, to swallow--
No more--and by a cumfart to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand natural arsestretchings
That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To swallow, to spit--
To spit--perchance to lick and, ay, to rub,
For when we swallow what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
And rinsed our arse. There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the poundings of the cock,
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely
The pangs of despised love, the nuts' delay,
The insolence of orifices, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,
When he himself might his nutsack shake
With a bare foreskin? Who could possibly bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary top,
But that the dread of something after fuck,
Fuck, fuck, the orgasm, from whose bourn
No bottom ever returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make arsesluts of us all,
And thus the facial hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of cum,
And enterprise of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action. -- Soft you now,
The fair Bukkake! – Nympho, in thy orifices
Be all my sins remembered.



Seriously: it's about buttsex and bukkake. You illiterate or somethink?

 

I don't say this often enough, but I love you floyd.