Robert Underwood Johnson (January 12, 1853 – October 14, 1937) was an American writer and diplomat. His wife was Katharine Johnson.
In tears I tossed my coin from Trevi's edge. A coin unsordid as a bond of love-- And, with the instinct of the homing dove, I gave to Rome my rendezvous and pledge. And when imperious Death Has quenched my flame of breath, Oh, let me join the faithful shades that throng that fount above.
Beauty, the smile of God, Music, His voice.
He is likely to remain the one historian of the Sierra; he imported into his view the imagination of the poet and the reverence of the worshipper. . . . William Kent, during Muir’s life, paid him a rare tribute in giving to the nation a park of redwoods with the understanding that it should be named Muir Woods. But the nation owes him more. His work was not sectional but for the whole people, for he was the real father of the forest reservations of America.
They know who keep a broken tryst, Till something from the Spring be missed We have not truly known the Spring.
Javier Cercas
Marilou
Carl Rogers
Gordie Howe
Michael Flatley
George D. Prentice
Michael Finley
Daniel Ek
Melvin Konner
Christmas Humphreys
Jinxx
Christian Friedrich Schonbein