It was at the outskirts of the world that the Old Things accumulated, like driftwood round the edges of the sea. ("The Troll")
T. H. WhiteAbout author
- Author's profession: Writer
- Nationality: indian
- Born: May 29, 1906
- Died: January 17, 1964
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Practicing an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven's sake. Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you possibly can. You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something.
Kurt Vonnegut
Now that lilacs are in bloom. She has a bowl of lilacs in her room. And twists one in her fingers while she talks."Ah, my friend, you do not know, you do not know. What life is, you who hold it in your hands"; (slowly twisting the lilac stalks)"You let it flow from you, you let it flow, And youth is cruel, and has no remorse. And smiles at situations which it cannot see."I smile, of course, And go on drinking tea.
T. S. Eliot