Dead Writers Club: Happy Deathday Mr. Chaucer! →
deadwriters: On October 25th in 1400, English writer Geoffrey Chaucer died of unknown causes. (Note: there is some debate as to the exact date) He is buried at Poet’s Corner in the Westminster Abbey in London. Chaucer is, of course, most well known for writing The Canterbury Tales. He was also quite an…
Not in good spirits
want to leave me something to cheer me up?
Why Adults Cry So Easily in Animated Kids Movies –... →
Before I go on with this short history, let me make a general observation– the...– F. Scott Fitzgerald (PARABOLA on Facebook)
oldhollywood: Ella Fitzgerald - Round Midnight...
There is another world, but it is in this one.– Paul Eluard (from oversouled, who added: “hat tip to Dave Bonta”)
setyourspiritfree asked: E-mailed you. :)
Robert Frost: After Apple-Picking (1914)
After Apple-Picking My long two-pointed ladder’s sticking through a tree Toward heaven still, And there’s a barrel that I didn’t fill Beside it, and there may be two or three Apples I didn’t pick upon some bough. But I am done with apple-picking now. Essence of winter sleep is on the night, The scent of apples: I am drowsing off. I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight...
unsunglory asked: how did you make a separate page for your sentence a day project?
That’s all we have, finally, the words, and they had better be the right ones.– Raymond Carver (via crashinglybeautiful)
The first person singular–that little devil of an I–is neither first, nor a...– James Hillman (via crashinglybeautiful)
If after I read a poem the world looks like that poem for 24 hours or so I’m...– Elizabeth Bishop (via deadwriters)
When Voltaire was asked why no woman has ever written even a tolerable tragedy?...– Lord Byron, in a letter to John Murray on April 2, 1817.
To be read as two cranky old New Yorkers.
Barb: What you are doing? You never do anything I ask. You're always searching the interwebs, watching videos of those dumb cats.
Chris: What, I'm on the webernet, looking at toasters like you asked!
Barb: Oh, you finally do something that I ask you to!
Chris: What do you mean? And what's wrong with the cats?
Barb: What's wrong with the cats? They don't even speak right. They need to go back to the seventh grade or something.
Chris: What, they're like the Garfield, these internet cats.
Barb: Don't you talk about my Garfield!
Chris: Oh so he's your cat now? Garfield is your cat.
Barb: Do I have nothing of my own?