And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door- Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;- This it is, and nothing more.
When one does something, one must do it wholly and well. Those bastard existences where you sell suet all day and write poetry at night are made for mediocre minds _ like those horses that are equally good for saddle and carriage, the worst kind, that can neither jump a ditch nor pull a plow.
Flaubert in Egypt: A Sensibility on Tour
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When one does something, one must do it wholly and well. Those bastard existences where you sell suet all day and write poetry at night are made for mediocre minds _ like those horses that are equally good for saddle and carriage, the worst kind, that can neither jump a ditch nor pull a plow.
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