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Beauty is but a flower,Which wrinkles will devour;Brightness falls from the air;Queens have died young and fair;Dust hath closed Helen's read more
Beauty is but a flower,Which wrinkles will devour;Brightness falls from the air;Queens have died young and fair;Dust hath closed Helen's eye.I am sick, I must die;Lord have mercy on us. - Song in Time of Pestilence.
We cultivate literature on a little oat-meal.
We cultivate literature on a little oat-meal.
A poet in history is divine, but a poet in the next room is a joke.
A poet in history is divine, but a poet in the next room is a joke.
People create stories create people; or rather stories create people create stories.
People create stories create people; or rather stories create people create stories.
Perish those who said our good things before we did.
Perish those who said our good things before we did.
They castrate the books of other men in order that with the fat of their works they may lard their read more
They castrate the books of other men in order that with the fat of their works they may lard their own lean volumes.
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.
The chief glory of every people arises from its authors.
The chief glory of every people arises from its authors.
