I dare say I am compelled, unconsciously compelled, now to write volume after volume, as in past years I was compelled to go to sea, voyage after voyage. Leaves must follow upon each other as leagues used to follow in the days gone by, on and on to the appointed end, which, being truth itself, is one -- one for all men and for all occupations.
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English literature is a kind of training in social ethics. English trains you to handle a body of information in read more
English literature is a kind of training in social ethics. English trains you to handle a body of information in a way that is conducive to action.
People create stories create people; or rather stories create people create stories.
People create stories create people; or rather stories create people create stories.
Five miles meandering with mazy motion, Through dale the sacred
river ran, Then reached the caverns measureless to man, read more
Five miles meandering with mazy motion, Through dale the sacred
river ran, Then reached the caverns measureless to man, And sank
the tumult to a lifeless ocean: And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard
from far Ancestral voices prophesying war!
Poetry must have something in it that is barbaric, vast and wild.
Poetry must have something in it that is barbaric, vast and wild.
. . . A man of the world amongst men of letters, a man of letters
amongst men of read more
. . . A man of the world amongst men of letters, a man of letters
amongst men of the world.
I am never long, even in the society of her I love, without yearning for the company of my lamp read more
I am never long, even in the society of her I love, without yearning for the company of my lamp and my library.
How is it that little children are so intelligent and men so stupid? It must be education that does it.
How is it that little children are so intelligent and men so stupid? It must be education that does it.
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.
A novel is never anything but a philosophy put into images.
A novel is never anything but a philosophy put into images.
