Two or three angelsCame near to the earth.They saw a fat church.Little black streams of peopleCame and went in continually.And the angels were puzzledTo know why the people went thus,And why they stayed so long within.
When the suicide arrived at the sky, the people there asked him: “Why?” He replied: “Because no one admired me.
Tell her thisAnd more,—That the king of the seasWeeps too, old, helpless man.The bustling fatesHeap his hands with corpsesUntil he stands like a childWith surplus of toys.
It perhaps might be said–if any one dared–that the most worthless literature of the world has been that which has been written by the men of one nation concerning the men of another.
A serious prophet upon predicting a flood should be the first man to climb a tree. This would demonstrate that he was indeed a seer.
If I am going to be drowned—if I am going to be drowned—if I am going to be drowned, why, in the name of the seven mad gods who rule the sea, was I allowed to come thus far and contemplate sand and trees?
He saw that it was an ironical thing for him to be running thus toward that which he had been at such pains to avoid.
These men were born to drill and die. Point for them the virtue of the slaughter, Make plain to them the excellence of killing And a field where a thousand corpses lie.
But as the girl timidly accosted him, he gave a convulsive movement and saved hisrespectability by a vigorous side-step. He did not risk it to save a soul. For how was he toknow that there was a soul before him that needed saving?
This poor gambler isn’t even a noun. He is kind of an adverb.
The moon had been lighted and was hung in a treetop.
It appeared that the swift wings of their desires would have shattered against the iron gates of the impossible.
Camp fires, like red, peculiar blossoms, dotted the night.
The maddened four men followed frantically, for it is better to be in the presence of the awful than only within hearing. (“The Black Dog”)
He did not consider public opinion to be accurate at long range.
When the prophet, a complacent fat man,Arrived at the mountain-topHe cried: “Woe to my knowledge!I intended to see good white landsAnd bad black lands—But the scene is grey.
It is perhaps, plausible that a man in this situation, impressed with the unconcern of the universe, should see the innumerable flaws of his life and have them taste wickedly in his mind and wish for another chance.
Sometimes, the most profound of awakenings come wrapped in the quietest of moments.
His face had been twisted into an expression of every agony he had imagined for his friend.
Nevertheless, he had, on a certain star-lit evening, said wonderingly and quite reverently: “Deh moon looks like hell, don’t it?
There was a man with tongue of woodWho essayed to sing,And in truth it was lamentable.But there was one who heardThe clip-clapper of this tongue of woodAnd knew what the manWished to sing,And with that the singer was content.