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And who in time knows whither we may vent
The treasure of our tongue? To what strange shores
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And who in time knows whither we may vent
The treasure of our tongue? To what strange shores
This gain of our best glory shall be sent,
T' enrich unknowing nations with our stores?
What worlds in th' yet unformed Occident
May come refin'd with th' accents that are ours?
No language is rude that can boast polite writers.
No language is rude that can boast polite writers.
Who climbs the grammar-tree, distinctly knows
Where noun, and verb, and participle grows.
Who climbs the grammar-tree, distinctly knows
Where noun, and verb, and participle grows.
The learned fool writes his nonsense in better language than the unlearne, but it is still nonsense.
The learned fool writes his nonsense in better language than the unlearne, but it is still nonsense.
Spoken language is merely a series of squeaks.
Spoken language is merely a series of squeaks.
If it is true that the violin is the most perfect of musical instruments, then Greek is the violin of read more
If it is true that the violin is the most perfect of musical instruments, then Greek is the violin of humn thought.
I have been a believer in the magic of language since, at a very early age, I discovered that some read more
I have been a believer in the magic of language since, at a very early age, I discovered that some words got me into trouble and others got me out.
Language is fossil poetry.
Language is fossil poetry.
