When Wolfe died, William Faulkner said he was the greatest writer of their time.
Ere on my bed my limbs I lay, It hath not been my use to pray With moving lips or bended knees; But silently, by slow degrees, My spirit I to Love compose, In humble trust mine eye-lids close, With reverential resignation No wish conceived, no thought exprest, Only a sense of supplication; A sense […]
I travell’d on, seeing the hill, where lay My expectation. A long it was and weary way. The gloomy cave of Desperation I left on th’ one, and on the other side The rock of Pride. And so I came to fancy’s meadow strow’d With many a flower: Fain would I here have made abode, […]
Even the greatest musicians set theory aside when they listen to beautiful songs. In fact, if they tried to analyze every measure and note, the spell would be broken. When John Keats wrote about Negative Capability, he meant the gift of appreciating beauty without understanding it. The tortured soul who has to know the ‘why’ […]
Samuel Taylor Coleridge was born on this day, October 21st in 1772.