Come little children. I'll take thee away, into a landof Enchantment. Come little childrenthe time's come to playhere in my gardenof Shadows. Follow sweet children. I'll show thee the waythrough all the pain andthe Sorrows. Weep not poor childlenfor life is this waymurdering beauty and. Passions. Hush now dear childrenit must be this wayto weary of life and. Deceptions. Rest now my childrenfor soon we'll awayinto the calm andthe Quiet. Come little children. I'll take thee away, into a landof Enchantment. Come little childrenthe time's come to playhere in my gardenof Shadows
Edgar Allan PoeAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet, Writer
- Nationality: american
- Born: January 19, 1809
- Died: October 7, 1849
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Then there was the church and the villagers on the sidewalks, the red geraniums on the graves in the cemetery, Perez fainting (he crumpled over like a rag doll), the blood-red earth spilling over Maman's casket, the white flesh of the roots mixed in with it, more people, voices, the village, waiting in front of a cafe, the incessant drone of the motor, and my joy when the bus entered the nest of lights that was Algiers and I knew I was going to go to bed and sleep for twelve hours.
Albert Camus
You write in order to change the world, knowing perfectly well that you probably can't, but also knowing that literature is indispensable to the world... The world changes according to the way people see it, and if you alter, even but a millimeter the way people look at reality, then you can change it.
James Baldwin