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Time the great destroyer of other men's happiness, only enlarges
the patrimony of literature to its possessor.
Time the great destroyer of other men's happiness, only enlarges
the patrimony of literature to its possessor.
When I give a lecture, I accept that people look at their watches, but what I do not tolerate is read more
When I give a lecture, I accept that people look at their watches, but what I do not tolerate is when they look at it and raise it to their ear to find out if it stopped.
The schoolmaster is abroad! And I trust to him armed with his primer against the soldier in full military array.
The schoolmaster is abroad! And I trust to him armed with his primer against the soldier in full military array.
If a poet has any obligation toward society, it is to write well. Being in the minority, he has no read more
If a poet has any obligation toward society, it is to write well. Being in the minority, he has no other choice. Failing this duty, he sinks into oblivion. Society, on the other hand, has no obligation toward the poet. A majority by definition, society thinks of itself as having other options than reading verses, no matter how well written. Its failure to do so results in its sinking to that level of locution at which society falls easy prey to a demagogue or a tyrant. This is society's own equivalent of oblivion.
Vigny, more secretAs if in his tower of ivory, retired before noon."N.B.: Vigny refers to Comte de Vigny, who locked read more
Vigny, more secretAs if in his tower of ivory, retired before noon."N.B.: Vigny refers to Comte de Vigny, who locked himself in an ivory tower to work without the influences of man and desire. - Pensees d'Aout.
Housework is a breeze. Cooking is a pleasant diversion. Putting up a retaining wall is a lark. But teaching is read more
Housework is a breeze. Cooking is a pleasant diversion. Putting up a retaining wall is a lark. But teaching is like climbing a mountain.
Poetry is the impish attempt to paint the color of the wind.
Poetry is the impish attempt to paint the color of the wind.
Education is the state-controlled manufacture of echoes.
Education is the state-controlled manufacture of echoes.
Poetry is an orphan of silence. The words never quite equal the experience behind them.
Poetry is an orphan of silence. The words never quite equal the experience behind them.
