Eugene Field, Sr. (September 2, 1850 – November 4, 1895) was an American writer, best known for his children's poetry and humorous essays. He was known as the "poet of childhood".
All good and true book-lovers practice the pleasing and improving avocation of reading in bed. . . No book can be appreciated until it has been slept with and dreamed over.
Here we have a baby. It is composed of a bald head and a pair of lungs.
Mr. Clarke played the King all evening as though under constant fear that someone else was about to play the Ace.
A mighty good sausage stuffer was spoiled when the man became a poet.
The biggest fish he ever caught were those that got away.
The best of all physiciansIs apple pie and cheese!
Not so, however, with books, for books cannot change. A thousand years hence they are what you find them to-day, speaking the same words, holding forth the same cheer, the same promise, the same comfort; always constant, laughing with those who laugh and weeping with those who weep.
No book can be appreciated until it has been slept with and dreamed over.
Let my temptation be a book.
But I, when I undress me Each night, upon my knees Will ask the Lord to bless me With apple-pie and cheese.
Let my temptation be a book, which I shall purchase, hold and keep.
Ideas came with explosive immediacy, like an instant birth. Human thought is like a monstrous pendulum; it keeps swinging from one extreme to the other.
Have you an unexpurgated copy of Hannah More's 'Letters to a Village Maiden'?
When I demanded of my friend what viands he preferred, He quoth: "A large cold bottle, and a small hot bird!"
He is so mean, he won't let his little baby have more than one measle at a time.
Some statesmen go to Congress and some go to jail. It is the same thing, after all.
Winkin', Blinkin', and Nod, one night sailed off in a wooden shoe; Sailed off on a river of crystal light into a sea of dew. "Where are you going and what do you wish?" the old moon asked the three. "We've come to fish for the herring fish that live in this beautiful sea. Nets of silver and gold have we," said Winkin', Blinkin', and Nod.
Father calls me William, sister calls me Will, Mother calls me Willie, but the fellows call me Bill!.
I'd like a stocking made for a giant, And a meeting house full of toys, Then I'd go out in a happy hunt For the poor little girls and boys; Up the street and down the street, And across and over the town, I'd search and find them everyone, Before the sun went down.
How gracious those dews of solace that over my senses fall At the clink of the ice in the pitcher the boy brings up the hall.