I’ll sail to Ka-Troo And bring back an it-kutch, A preep, and a proo, A nerkle, a nerd, And a seersucker, too!
Let your literary compositions be kept from the public eye for nine years at least.
Literature is an avenue to glory, ever open for those ingenious men who are deprived of honours or of wealth.
Great literature is simply language charged with meaning to the utmost possible degree.
Literature is a fragment of a fragment; of all that ever happened, or has been said, but a fraction has been written, and of this but little is extant.
Literature is news that stays news.
Going so soon? I wouldn’t hear of it. Why my little party’s just beginning.
Hung on the shower that fronts the golden West, The rainbow bursts like magic on mine eyes! In hues of ancient promise there imprest; Frail in its date, eternal in its guise.
That every word doth almost tell my name, Showing their birth, and where they did proceed.
Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this son of York, And all the clouds that loured upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.