All the wild sweetness of the flower Tangled against the wall. It was that magic, silent hour.... The branches grew so tall… — Katherine Mansfield Copy Share Image
Behold, O Lord, that I am indignant with myself, for my senseless, profitless, hurtful, perilous passions; that I loathe myself, for these… — Lancelot Andrewes Copy Share Image
Alas! the culture of an Irishman is an enterprise to be undertaken with a sort of moral bog hoe. — Henry David Thoreau Copy Share Image
Cupid and my Campaspe play'd At cards for kisses - Cupid paid: He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows, His mother's doves,… — John Lyly Copy Share Image
