Held In Bondage
Ouida
“A young man married is a man that’s marred.” That’s a golden rule, Arthur; take it to heart.
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A Piece Of Chalk
G. K. Chesterton
I remember one splendid morning, all blue and silver, in the summer holidays when I reluctantly tore myself away from the task of doing nothing in particular, and put on a hat of some sort and picked up a walking-stick, and put six very bright-coloured chalks in my pocket.
(more…)The Sabbath Of A Great Author
Bill Nye
I awake at an unearthly hour on Sunday morning, after which I turn over and go to sleep again. This second, or beauty sleep, I find to be almost invaluable. I do it also with much more earnestness and expression than that in the earlier part of the night. All the other people in the house gradually wake up as I begin to get in my more fancy strokes.
(more…)The Fall Of Days
Remy de Gourmont
There is a fall of days as there is a I fall of leaves. I do not know what wind, blowing from the infinite, shakes the years, and sends falling from them one by one the sere and yellow days.
(more…)Absolute Enlightenment
Costin Nițu
I drove on the bleak streets of the city, a cool breeze in my face, meditating on senescence and the universe, on my way to a feast.
(more…)The Ideal Woman
Frank Crane
The ideal woman is lovable. She may not be beautiful of face, but she has charm.
She is attractive to men, not repellent.
(more…)Another Day In Paradise
Costin Nițu
I wake up late again, uncharacteristically sad and inept.
I have a cheese omelet for breakfast and watch the news. They’re still arguing over who bombed that hospital full of people in Gaza. The Palestinians blame the Israelis. The Israelis blame the Palestinians. I can’t tell them apart so I hate them both.
(more…)The Unconquerable
Frank Crane
Reporters in the war-smitten countries of Europe tell us that one effect of the horrors of death, wounds, and heartbreak is that the men are turning back to the churches. Out of the obscene muck of materialistic force is springing a revaluation of the spirit in man.
(more…)A Dull Day
Frank Crane
The sun may be shining when you read this, but it was a dull day when it was written.
(more…)A Meditation Upon A Broom-Stick
Jonathan Swift
This single stick, which you now behold ingloriously lying in that neglected corner, I once knew in a nourishing state in a forest: it was full of sap, full of leaves, and full of boughs: but now, in vain does the busy art of man pretend to vie with nature, by tying that withered bundle of twigs to its sapless trunk.
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