The economy is showing encouraging signs of recovery.
Far out of sight forever stands the sea, Bounding the land with pale tranquillity.
The poet's first job of work is to put bread on the table.
And one rose in a tent of sea and gave A darkening shudder; water fell away; The whale stood shining, and then sank in spray.
The passion to condense from book to book Unbroken wisdom in a single look, Though we know well that when this fix the head, The mind's immortal, but the man is dead.
The rain of matter upon sense Destroys me momently. The score: There comes what will come.
Gascoigne, Ben Jonson, Greville, Raleigh, Donne, Poets who wrote great poems, one by one, And spaced by many years, each line an act Through which few labor, which no men retract. This passion is the scholar's heritage
Hard times always uncover the basic goodness and evil of the day.
We are not sure we are right until we have made the best case possible for those who are wrong.
My life in general, orderly or not, it allows me more freedom in my own writing. Sometimes I wonder, though - I have friends that sit around and just write all day. And I think it's the coolest thing.
Your passion is your qualification. It's your leading qualification.