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The artist, like the God of the creation, remains within or
behind or beyond or above his handiwork, invisible, read more
The artist, like the God of the creation, remains within or
behind or beyond or above his handiwork, invisible, refined out
of existence, indifferent, paring his fingernails.
And especially, especially, don't f*ck with vegans. Do not look vegans in the eye. If you get into an argument read more
And especially, especially, don't f*ck with vegans. Do not look vegans in the eye. If you get into an argument with a vegan, say "I'm wrong", and run away as fast as you can. Do not f*ck with vegans because they will f*ck you up... BECAUSE THEY'RE HUNGRY.
Satire or sense, alas! Can Sporus feel?
Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel?
Satire or sense, alas! Can Sporus feel?
Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel?
There are, to whom my satire seems too bold;
Scarce to wise Peter complaisant enough,
And something read more
There are, to whom my satire seems too bold;
Scarce to wise Peter complaisant enough,
And something said of Chartres much too rough.
Satire should, like a polished razor keen,
Wound with a touch that's scarcely felt or seen.
Thine read more
Satire should, like a polished razor keen,
Wound with a touch that's scarcely felt or seen.
Thine is an oyster knife, that hacks and hews;
The rage but not the talent to abuse.
Satire lies about literary men while they live and eulogy lies
about them when they die.
[Fr., La read more
Satire lies about literary men while they live and eulogy lies
about them when they die.
[Fr., La satire ment sur les gens de lettres pendant leur vie, et
l'eloge ment apres leur mort.]
I'll publish, right or wrong: / Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.
I'll publish, right or wrong: / Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.
Satire's my weapon, but I'm too discreet
To run amuck and tilt at all I meet.
Satire's my weapon, but I'm too discreet
To run amuck and tilt at all I meet.
Unless a love of virtue light the flame,
Satire is, more than those he brands, to blame;
read more
Unless a love of virtue light the flame,
Satire is, more than those he brands, to blame;
He hides behind a magisterial air
He own offences, and strips others' bare.