Language is a city to the building of which every human being brought a stone.

Language is a city to the building of which every human being brought a stone.

Language. I loved it. And for a long time I would think of myself, of my whole body, as an read more

Language. I loved it. And for a long time I would think of myself, of my whole body, as an ear.

To God I speak Spanish, to women Italian, to men French, and to
my horse--German.

To God I speak Spanish, to women Italian, to men French, and to
my horse--German.

It was greek to me.

It was greek to me.

The secret of language is the secret of sympathy and its full charm is possible only to the gentle.

The secret of language is the secret of sympathy and its full charm is possible only to the gentle.

The difficulty of literature is not to write, but to write what you mean

The difficulty of literature is not to write, but to write what you mean

Don Chaucer. well of English undefyled
On Fame's eternall beadroll worthie to be fyled.

Don Chaucer. well of English undefyled
On Fame's eternall beadroll worthie to be fyled.

I can remember the lush spring excitement of language in childhood. Sitting in church, rolling it around my mouth like read more

I can remember the lush spring excitement of language in childhood. Sitting in church, rolling it around my mouth like marbles--tabernacle and pharisee and parable, tresspass and Babylon and covenant.

And who in time knows whither we may vent the treasure of our tongue, to what strange shores this gain read more

And who in time knows whither we may vent the treasure of our tongue, to what strange shores this gain of our best glories shall be sent, 't unknowing Nations with our stores? What worlds in the yet unformed Occident may come refined with the accents that are ours?