We read poetry because the poets, like ourselves, have been haunted by the inescapable tyranny of time and death; have suffered the pain of loss, and the more wearing, continuous pain of frustration and failure; and have had moods of unlooked-for release and peace. They have known and watched in themselves and others.
You May Also Like / View all maxioms
Arrogance, pedantry, and dogmatism... the occupational diseases of those who spend their lives directing the intellects of the young.
Arrogance, pedantry, and dogmatism... the occupational diseases of those who spend their lives directing the intellects of the young.
The answers you get from literature depend on the questions you pose.
The answers you get from literature depend on the questions you pose.
Education is what survives when what has been learned has been forgotten.
Education is what survives when what has been learned has been forgotten.
When a man can observe himself suffering and is able, later, to describe what he's gone through, it means he read more
When a man can observe himself suffering and is able, later, to describe what he's gone through, it means he was born for literature.
A novel is a mirror carried along a main road.
A novel is a mirror carried along a main road.
The authority of those who teach is often an obstacle to those who want to learn.
The authority of those who teach is often an obstacle to those who want to learn.
Our poetry in the eighteenth century was prose; our prose in the
seventeenth, poetry.
Our poetry in the eighteenth century was prose; our prose in the
seventeenth, poetry.
When the waves are round me breaking,As I pace the deck alone,And my eye in vain is seekingSome green leaf read more
When the waves are round me breaking,As I pace the deck alone,And my eye in vain is seekingSome green leaf to rest upon;What would not I give to wanderWhere my old companions dwell?Absence makes the heart grow fonder,Isle of Beauty, fare thee well! - Paradise Lost.
Five miles meandering with mazy motion, Through dale the sacred
river ran, Then reached the caverns measureless to man, read more
Five miles meandering with mazy motion, Through dale the sacred
river ran, Then reached the caverns measureless to man, And sank
the tumult to a lifeless ocean: And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard
from far Ancestral voices prophesying war!
