If thou survive my well-contented day When that churl death my bones with dust shall cover,... And shalt by fortune once more re-survey These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover; Compare them with the bettering of the time, And though they be outstripped by every pen, Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme Exceeded by the height of happier men. Oh, then vouchsafe me but this loving thought-- \'Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age, A dearer birth than this his love had brought, To march in ranks of better equipage: But since he died, and poets better prove, Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love.'LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
The work of the world is common as mud. Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.... But the thing worth doing well done has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident. ... The pitcher cries for water to carry and a person for work that is real.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
It is pleasant to walk over the beds of these fresh, crisp, and rustling leaves. How beautifully they go to their graves! how gent...ly lay themselves down and turn to mould!--painted of a thousand hues, and fit to make the beds of us living. So they troop to their last resting-place, light and frisky.... They that soared so loftily, how contentedly they return to dust again, and are laid low, resigned to lie and decay at the foot of the tree, and afford nourishment to new generations of their kind, as well as to flutter on high! They teach us how to die. One wonders if the time will ever come when men, with their boasted faith in immortality, will lie down as gracefully and as ripe,--with such an Indian-summer serenity will shed their bodies, as they do their hair and nails.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
Our own country furnishes antiquities as ancient and durable, and as useful, as any; rocks at least as well covered with lichens, ...and a soil which, if it is virgin, is but virgin mould, the very dust of nature. What if we cannot read Rome or Greece, Etruria or Carthage, or Egypt or Babylon, on these; are our cliffs bare?LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
The siren south is well enough, but New York, at the beginning of March, is a hoyden we would not care to miss--a drafty wench, he...r temperature up and down, full of bold promises and dust in the eye.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
The mind of the thoroughly well-informed man is a dreadful thing. It is like a bric-à-brac shop, all monsters and dust, with ever...ything priced above its proper value.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
... the struggle against sexism demands the destruction of the American state, and ... the immediate personal nature of sexism req...uires struggle against men who enforce that oppression as well as its institutions.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »