What passing bells for these who die as cattle?Only the monstrous anger of the guns.Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattleCan read more

What passing bells for these who die as cattle?Only the monstrous anger of the guns.Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattleCan patter out their hasty orisons. - Anthem for Doomed Youth.

The decline in literature indicates a decline in the nation. The two keep pace in their downward tendency.

The decline in literature indicates a decline in the nation. The two keep pace in their downward tendency.

And He shall judge among the nations, and shall rebuke many people: and they shall beat their swords into plowshares, read more

And He shall judge among the nations, and shall rebuke many people: and they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks: nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more. - Isaiah 2:4.

Little do such men know the toil, the pains, the daily, nightly racking of the brains, to range the thoughts, read more

Little do such men know the toil, the pains, the daily, nightly racking of the brains, to range the thoughts, the matter to digest, to cull fit phrases, and reject the rest.

Truth must necessarily be stranger than fiction, for fiction is the creation of the human mind and therefore congenial to read more

Truth must necessarily be stranger than fiction, for fiction is the creation of the human mind and therefore congenial to it.

One learns little more about a man from his feats of literary memory than from the feats of his alimentary read more

One learns little more about a man from his feats of literary memory than from the feats of his alimentary canal.

Literature is the immortality of speech.

Literature is the immortality of speech.

Literature is the orchestration of platitudes.

Literature is the orchestration of platitudes.

We read poetry because the poets, like ourselves, have been haunted by the inescapable tyranny of time and death; have read more

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.