Richard Burton is now my epitaph, my cross, my title, my image. I have achieved a kind of diabolical fame. It has nothing to do wi...th my talents as an actor. That counts for little now. I am the diabolically famous Richard Burton.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
The narcissus has copied the arch of your slight breast:... your feet are citron-flowers, your knees, cut from white-ash, your thighs are rock-cistus.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
Thoth, Hermes, the stylus, the palette, the pen, the quill endure,... though our books are a floor of smouldering ash under our feet.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
On Thursday morning going through the quiet woods... it is not Thursday. To dwellers in a wood almost every species of tree has its voice as well as its feature. At the passing of the breeze the fir-trees sob and moan no less distinctly than they rock; the holly whistles as it battles with itself; the ash hisses amid its quiverings; the beech rustles while its flat boughs rise and fall. And winter, which modifies the note of such trees as shed their leaves, does not destroy its individuality.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
For it's home, dearie, home--it's home I want to be. Our topsails are hoisted, and we'll away to sea.... O, the oak and the ash and the bonnie birken tree They're all growing green in the old countrie.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
See where she comes, and smell how all the street, Breathes vineyards and pomegranates: oh, how sweet!... As a fired altar is each stone, Perspiring pounded cinnamon. The phoenix-nest, Built up of odours, burneth in her breast. Who therein would not consume His soul to ash-heaps in that rich perfume,LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »