There is no age—the swiftly passing hour That measures out our days of pilgrimage And breaks the heart of every summer flower, Shall find again the child’s soul in the sage. — Eva Gore-Booth, from “There is No Age,” Poems of Eva Gore-Booth (Longmans, Green, 1929) Advertisements
The White Birds I would that we were, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea! We tire of the flame of the meteor, before it can fade and flee; And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low on the rim of the sky, Has awakened in our hearts, my… Continue reading W. B. Yeats
Youth is wasted on the young. ― George Bernard Shaw
If you don’t know where you are currently standing, you’re dead. ― Samuel Beckett, Happy Days. (Faber & Faber; New Impression edition, 1987) Originally published 1960.
The old summer’s-end melancholy nips at my heels. There’s no school to go back to; no detail of my life will change come the onset of September; yet still, I feel the old trepidation. ― Sara Baume, A Line Made by Walking. (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt; First American Edition edition, April 18, 2017)
There’s no lack of void. — Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot. . (Grove Press; 1 edition, May 17, 2011) Originally published 1952. Premiered 5 January 1953 at theThéâtre de Babylone, Paris France.
I THOUGHT of your beauty, and this arrow, Made out of a wild thought, is in my marrow. There’s no man may look upon her, no man, As when newly grown to be a woman, Tall and noble but with face and bosom Delicate in colour as apple blossom. This beauty’s kinder, yet for a… Continue reading W. B. Yeats