Death, like a host, comes smiling to the door; Smiling, he greets us, on that tranquil shore. Where neither piping bird nor peeping dawn. Disturbs the eternal sleep, But in the stillness far withdrawn. Our dreamless rest for evermore we keep.
Robert Louis StevensonAbout author
- Author's profession: Writer
- Nationality: scottish
- Born: November 13, 1850
- Died: December 3, 1894
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There is seven-eights of it under water for every part that shows. Anything you know you can eliminate and it only strengthens your iceberg. It is the part that doesn't show. If a writer omits something because he does not know it then there is a hole in the story.(Interview with Paris Review, 1958)
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