#AmericanWriters
There here are words of radical ad… Young man, be a snob. Yes, if you are in search of argum… Why I’ve gottem. Let the personnel managers differ;
The ant has made himself illustrio… Through constant industry industri… So what? Would you be calm and placid, If you were full of formic acid?
It is common knowledge to every sc… That all sin is divided into two p… One kind of sin is called a sin of… And it is what you are doing when… And the other kind of sin is just…
Geniuses of countless nations Have told their love for generatio… Till all their memorable phrases Are common as goldenrod or daisies… Their girls have glimmered like th…
The hunter crouches in his blind ‘Neath camouflage of every kind And conjures up a quacking noise To lend allure to his decoys This grown-up man, with pluck and…
Sure, deck your limbs in pants; Yours are the limbs, my sweeting. You look divine as you advance— Have you seen yourself retreating?
From whence arrived the praying ma… From outer space, or lost Atlanti… glimpse the grin, green metal mug at masks the pseudo-saintly bug, Orthopterous, also carnivorous,
Master I may be, But not of my fate. Now come the kisses, too many too… Tell me, O Parcae, For fain would I know,
Bound to your bookseller, leap to… Deluge your dealer with bakshish a… Lean on the counter and never say… Wodehouse and Wooster are with us… Flourish the fish-slice, your butt…
Unwillingly Miranda wakes, Feels the sun with terror, One unwilling step she takes, Shuddering to the mirror. Miranda in Miranda’s sight
Higgledy piggledy, my black hen, She lays eggs for gentlemen. Gentlemen come every day To count what my black hen doth la… If perchance she lays too many,
So Thomas Edison Never drank his medicine; So Blackstone and Hoyle Refused cod-liver oil; So Sir Thomas Malory
In spite of her sniffle, Isabel’s chiffle. Some girls with a sniffle Would be weepy and tiffle; They would look awful,
The hands of the clock were reachi… In an old midtown hotel; I name no name, but its sordid fam… Is table talk in hell. I name no name, but hell’s own fla…
When I remember bygone days I think how evening follows morn; So many I loved were not yet dead… So many I love were not yet born.