Without Lifting A Finger

Who in the rainbow can draw the line where the violet tint ends and the orange tint begins? Distinctly we see the difference of the colors, but where exactly does the one first blendingly enter into the other? So with sanity and insanity. In pronounced cases there is no question about them. But in some supposed cases, in various degrees supposedly less pronounced, to draw the exact line of demarkation few will undertake tho' for a fee some professional experts will. There is nothing namable but that some men will undertake to do it for pay.

Long ago an honest scholar my senior, said to me in reference to one who like himself is now no more, a man so unimpeachably respectable that against him nothing was ever openly said though among the few something was whispered, 'Yes, X--- is a nut not be cracked by the tap of a lady's fan. You are aware that I am the adherent of no organized religion much less of any philosophy built into a system. Well, for all that, I think that to try and get into X---, enter his labyrinth and get out again, without a clue derived from some source other than what is known as "knowledge of the world" — that were hardly possible, at least for me." "Why," said I, "X---, however singular a study to some, is yet human, and knowledge of the world assuredly implies the knowledge of human nature, and in most of its varieties." "Yes, but a superficial knowledge of it, serving ordinary purposes. But for anything deeper, I am not certain whether to know the worl...

In this particular Billy was a striking instance that the arch interferer, the envious marplot of Eden, still has more or less to do with every human consignment to this planet of earth. In every case, one way or another he is sure to slip in his little card, as much as to remind us- I too have a hand here. The avowal of such an imperfection in the Handsome Sailor should be evidence not alone that he is not presented as a conventional hero, but also that the story in which he is the main figure is no romance.

And now I will tell a fable for princes who themselves understand. Thus said the hawk to the nightingale with speckled neck, while he carried her high up among the clouds, gripped fast in his talons, and she, pierced by his crooked talons, cried pitifully. To her he spoke disdainfully: "Miserable thing, why do you cry out? One far stronger than you now holds you fast, and you must go wherever I take you, songstress as you are. And if I please I will make my meal of you, or let you go. He is a fool who tries to withstand the stronger, for he does not get the mastery and suffers pain besides his shame." So said the swiftly flying hawk, the long-winged bird.

Nuttall's Woodpecker @ Huntington Central Park on a Sunday Morning. I was there for the young Green Herons but this cutie insisted on his time.;)💕 Have a Great Weekend!!! #rlswihart  #huntingtoncentralpark  #socal  #woodpeckersofinstagram  #nuttallswoodpecker  #nature #beauty  #poetry #alwayssunday #readmorepoetry2025💗

It was not until after midnight that my turn came again to take over the death watch now that we had strangely enough instituted it. This time I stayed in the room until morning; the hours passed by me quickly, like a moment of time, and I had no idea what I really was thinking and feeling. It was so quiet that through the stillness I seemed to be able to hear the murmur of Eternity; the pale and lifeless girl continued to lie motionless, but in the dim light, the coloured flowers of the rug appeared to be growing. Now the morning star rose and was reflected in the lake; I extinguished the lamp in its honour, so that it alone might be Anna’s funeral candle, then I sat in the dark, in my corner, and watched the room grow gradually light. With the dawn, which passed into the purest golden-red of morning, there seemed to be a stirring of life around the quiet figure until it lay there, clear in the bright daylight. I had got up and placed myself in front of the bed, and when her features ...

I remembered Goethe’s Italian Journey which I had read, and Römer told me a great deal about the people and customs, and the past of Italy. He hardly ever read a book except for the German translation of Homer and an Italian edition of Ariosto. He asked me to read the Homer and I did not wait to be asked twice. To begin with, I could not get on with it; of course I thought it was all very beautiful, but I was too little used to a work of such simplicity and on so grand a scale, and I could not persevere with it for long at a time. But Römer pointed out to me how Homer, in every action and situation, used just what was necessary and appropriate, how every vessel and every article of clothing which he described was also at the same time in the finest taste imaginable, and finally how, with him, every situation and every moral conflict, though of an almost childlike simplicity, was steeped in the choicest poetry. ‘Nowadays people are always longing after what is exquisite, interesting and...

  My poem "Gold Beach" just came out in the Meniscus Literary Journal of Australia (Volume 13, Issue 1, 2025). Much thanks to Jenn Webb and everyone else involved in the production. The link is below, and you'll need to navigate to p. 190 to read my poem. But don't stop there: read the whole issue.;) https://www.meniscus.org.au/_files/ugd/7c40c1_534d5b7c88cd45a08e0a239bd3b61c8b.pdf