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Education is the state-controlled manufacture of echoes.
Education is the state-controlled manufacture of echoes.
This novel is not to be tossed lightly aside, but hurled with great force.
This novel is not to be tossed lightly aside, but hurled with great force.
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!
I made a compact with myself that in my person literature should
stand by itself, of itself, and for read more
I made a compact with myself that in my person literature should
stand by itself, of itself, and for itself.
A teacher is one who makes himself progressively unnecessary.
A teacher is one who makes himself progressively unnecessary.
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.
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
You, the Spirit of the Settlement! ... Not understand that America is God's crucible, the great melting-pot where all the read more
You, the Spirit of the Settlement! ... Not understand that America is God's crucible, the great melting-pot where all the races of Europe are melting and re-forming! Here, you stand, good folk, think I, when I see them at Ellis Island, here you stand in your fifty groups, with your fifty languages and histories, and your fifty blood hatreds and rivalries... - Melting Pot, The.
