Words

"Oh, winter's rains and ruins are over,
And all the seasons of snows and sins;
The days dividing lover and lover,
The light that loses, the night that wins;
And time remembered is grief forgotten,
And frosts are slain and flowers begotten,
And in green underwood and cover,
Blossom by blossom the spring begins."

Algernon Charles Swinburne

"'I'll never be a poet,' said Amory as he finished.  'I'm not enough of a sensualist really; there are only a few obvious things that I notice as primarily beautiful: women, spring evenings, music at night, the sea; I don't catch the subtle things like 'silver-snarling trumpets.'  I may turn out an intellectual, but I'll never write anything but mediocre poetry.'"

This Side of Paradise

F. Scott Fitzgerald, you have my heart.

Weekend Words (Oh, Hello Again)

Let us go then, you and I, 

When the evening is spread out against the sky

Like a patient etherized upon a table;

Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets

The muttering retreats

Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels

And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:

The streets that follow like a tedious argument

Of insidious intent 

To lead you to an overwhelming question...

Oh do not ask, "what is it?"

Let us go and make our visit.

"Prufrock" by T.S. Elliot