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Category： Author：novel
These paragraphs, dignified by the revised edition of Gallantry and spuriously designated An Introduction, are nothing more than a series of notes and haphazard discoveries in preparation of a thesis. That thesis, if it is ever written, will bear a title something academically like The Psychogenesis of a Poet; or Cabell the Masqu...
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Category： Author：novel
The poet who wrote the hexameter quoted on the title-page meant it to be the first line of a Latin epic. The epic was not written—in Latin at any rate,—and the poet’s change of purpose had consequences of moment to literature. But I have always been glad that the line quoted was rescued from the fire, for it fit...
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Category： Author：novel
There are men who cannot bring themselves to conform with the rest of human society, who cannot conceive of a secure and honorable career even at the hands of a tolerant age. They flee, they are eternally escaping from the fold by some particularly outrageous or suicidal action. Rimbaud having mastered the art of poetry in his tw...
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Category： Author：novel
Jim Gilmore came to Hortons Bay from Canada. He bought the blacksmith shop from old man Horton. Jim was short and dark with big mustaches and big hands. He was a good horseshoer and did not look much like a blacksmith even with his leather apron on.
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Category： Author：novel
I was one of a family of nine, of which four were sons. My eldest brother was destined for the Church; the second had entered a mercantile house in Liverpool; and I, who was third on the list, it was my father\'s intention, should be educated for the Royal Engineers, and at the time my story opens I was prosecuting my studies for admis...
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Category： Author：novel
There were scarcely any events in the life of Thomas Hood. One condition there was of too potent determining importance — life-long ill health; and one circumstance of moment — a commercial failure, and consequent expatriation. Beyond this, little presents itself for record in the outward facts of this upright and beneficial career, br...
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Category： Author：novel
One winter night, at half-past nine, Cold, tired, and cross, and muddy, I had come home, too late to dine, And supper, with cigars and wine, Was waiting in the study.
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Category： Author：Robert Louis Stevenson罗伯特·路易斯·史蒂文森
I ASK good things that I detest,With speeches fair;Heed not, I pray Thee, Lord, my breast
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Category： Author：Percy Bysshe Shelley
Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822) was one of the major English Romantic poets and is widely considered to be among the finest lyric poets of the English language. He received his early education at home, tutored by Reverend Evan Edwards of Warnham. In 1802, he entered the Syon House Academy of Brentford. He was routinely bullied while h...
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Category： Author：Edward Payson Roe
TRUE! nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why WILL you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses, not destroyed, not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How then am I mad? Hearken! and observe how he...
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