by Rudyard Kipling It was not part of their blood, It came to them very late, With long arrears to make good, When the Saxon began to hate. They were not easily
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Romance is perhaps the highest point of human expression, except indeed religion, to which it is closely allied. Romance resembles religion especially in this, that it is not only a simplification but
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He who is Sultan so remote to the East that his dominions were deemed fabulous in Babylon, whose name is a by-word for distance today in the streets of Bagdad, whose capital
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Pickwick is in Dickens’s career the mere mass of light before the creation of sun or moon. It is the splendid, shapeless substance of which all his stars were ultimately made.
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A farmer, whose poultry-yard had suffered severely from the foxes, succeeded at last in catching one in a trap. "Ah, you rascal!" said he, as he saw him struggling, "I'll teach you
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"Biden is...kept alive and healthy in as many ways as modern science has to offer. But the entities speaking through the man are not his voice."
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Let us think for a while upon what the Stage was once, in a republic of the past—what it may be again, I sometimes dream, in some republic of the future.
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Editor’s note: The following is extracted from Wine, Water, and Song, by G.K. Chesterton (published 1915). If I had been a Heathen,I’d have praised the purple vine,My slaves should dig the vineyards,And
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"Therefore all the more I will go with them, and slay the accursed beast. Have I not slain all evil-doers and monsters, that I might free this land?"
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"...for each of us has a Golden Fleece to seek, and a wild sea to sail over ere we reach it, and dragons to fight ere it be ours."
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And Perseus looked awhile, and then said: ‘If there is anything so fierce and foul on earth, it were a noble deed to kill it. Where can I find the monster?’
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