Then, if to make your ruin more, You'll peevishly be coy, Die with the scandal of a whore. And never know the joy.
John WilmotAbout author
- Author's profession: Writer
- Nationality: english
- Born: April 1, 1647
- Died: July 26, 1680
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Words, words, word. Once, I had the gift. I could make love out of words as a potter makes cups of clay. Love that overthrows empire. Love that binds two hearts together, come hellfire & brimstone. For sixpence a line, I could cause a riot in a nunnery. But now -- I have lost my gift. It's as if my quill is broken, as if the organ of my imagination has dried up, as if the proud -illegible word- of my genius has collapsed.
Jeffrey Eugenides