Do not worry about the incarnation of ideas. If you are a poet, your works will contain them without your read more

Do not worry about the incarnation of ideas. If you are a poet, your works will contain them without your knowledge -- they will be both moral and national if you follow your inspiration freely.

Literature, the most seductive, the most deceiving, the most dangerous of professions.

Literature, the most seductive, the most deceiving, the most dangerous of professions.

From the moment I picked your book up until I laid it down I was convulsed with laughter. Some day read more

From the moment I picked your book up until I laid it down I was convulsed with laughter. Some day I intend reading it.

Literature adds to reality, it does not simply describe it. It enriches the necessary competencies that daily life requires and read more

Literature adds to reality, it does not simply describe it. It enriches the necessary competencies that daily life requires and provides; and in this respect, it irrigates the deserts that our lives have already become.

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever!A farewell, and then forever!Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,Warring sighs and groans read more

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever!A farewell, and then forever!Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.Who shall say that Fortune grieves him,While the star of hope she leaves him?Me, nae cheerful twinkle lights me,Dark despair around benights me. - Ae Fond Kiss.

Our poetry in the eighteenth century was prose; our prose in the
seventeenth, poetry.

Our poetry in the eighteenth century was prose; our prose in the
seventeenth, poetry.

Writing is the only profession where no one considers you ridiculous if you earn no money.

Writing is the only profession where no one considers you ridiculous if you earn no money.

Beneath the rule of men entirely great, / The pen is mightier than the sword.

Beneath the rule of men entirely great, / The pen is mightier than the sword.

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.