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But wherefore thou alone? Wherefore with theeCame not all hell broke loose? Is pain to themLess pain, less to be read more
But wherefore thou alone? Wherefore with theeCame not all hell broke loose? Is pain to themLess pain, less to be fled, or thou than theyLess hardy to endure? Courageous chief,The first in flight from pain, hadst thou allegedTo thy deserted host this cause of flight,Thou surely hadst not come sole fugitive. - Paradise Lost.
Everywhere I go, I'm asked if the universities stifle writers. My opinion is that they don't stifle enough of them.
Everywhere I go, I'm asked if the universities stifle writers. My opinion is that they don't stifle enough of them.
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 chief glory of every people arises from its authors.
The chief glory of every people arises from its authors.
A great literature is chiefly the product of inquiring minds in revolt against the immovable certainties of the nation.
A great literature is chiefly the product of inquiring minds in revolt against the immovable certainties of the nation.
There is the view that poetry should improve your life. I think people confuse it with the Salvation Army.
There is the view that poetry should improve your life. I think people confuse it with the Salvation Army.
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.
Till last by Philip's farm I flowTo join the brimming river,For men may come and men may go,But I go read more
Till last by Philip's farm I flowTo join the brimming river,For men may come and men may go,But I go on for ever. - The Brook.
Literature is the immortality of speech.
Literature is the immortality of speech.