This love, wrong understood
Oft' turned my joy to pain,
I tried to throw away the bud,
But the blossom would remain
John Clare, "Love's Pains," 1844
“Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depth of your heart; confess to yourself you would have to die if you were forbidden to write.” ― Rainer Maria Rilke
Friday 14 February 2020
Monday 10 February 2020
ON BOOKS AND WINE
He sits in a beautiful parlor.
With hundreds of books on the wall;
He drinks a great deal of Marsala,
But never gets tipsy at all.
Edward Lear = "How Pleasant to Know Mr. Lear," 19871
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