The poet is he that hath fat enough, like bears and marmots, to suck his claws all winter. He hibernates in this world, and feeds ...on his own marrow.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
The civilized nations--Greece, Rome, England--have been sustained by the primitive forests which anciently rotted where they stand.... They survive as long as the soil is not exhausted. Alas for human culture! little is to be expected of a nation, when the vegetable mould is exhausted, and it is compelled to make manure of the bones of its fathers. There the poet sustains himself merely by his own superfluous fat, and the philosopher comes down on his marrow-bones.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
O why do you walk through the fields in gloves, Missing so much and so much?... O fat white woman whom nobody loves, Why do you walk through the fields in gloves, When the grass is soft as the breast of doves And shivering sweet to the touch?LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
O fat white woman whom nobody loves, Why do you walk through the fields in gloves,... When the grass is soft as the breast of doves And shivering-sweet to the touch?LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »