English En
  • Deutsche De
  • English En
  • Français Fr
  • Русский Ru

We use cookies to personalise content and ads, to provide social media features and to analyse our traffic. We also share information about your use of our site with our marketing and analytics partners who may combine it with other information you've provided to them or which they've separately collected from you. You also may to see our Privacy Policy. By clicking the OK button below, you accept our cookies.

Authors:

But words are things and a small drop of ink, Falling like a dew, upon a thought produces. That which makes thousands, perhaps millions think;'Tis strange, the shortest letter which man uses. Instead of speech, may form a lasting link. Of ages; to what straits old Time reduces. Frail man, when paper - even a rag like this -, Survives himself, his tomb and all that's his.

George Byron