#EnglishWriters
Nobody heard him, the dead man, But still he lay moaning: I was much further out than you th… And not waving but drowning. Poor chap, he always loved larking
Walking swiftly with a dreadful du… He smiled too briefly, his face wa… He jumped into a taxi when he saw… Leaving my alone with a private me… He loves me so much, my heart is s…
The pleasures of friendship are ex… How pleasant to go to a friend on… I go to my friend, we walk on the… And the hours and moments like min…
Mother, among the dustbins and the… I feel the measure of my humanity,… As of the presence of God, I am s… In the dustbins, in the manure, in… Is the presence of God, in a sure…
Nobody knows what I feel about Fr… I cannot make anyone understand I love him sub specie aet ernitati… I love him out of hand. I don’t love him so much in the re…
I remember the Roman Emperor, one… Who used to visit for pleasure his… So then they would beg him for dea… Oh no, oh no, we are not yet frien… He meant they were not yet friends…
I do not ask for mercy for underst… And in these heavy days I do not… I do not ask that suffering shall… I do not pray to God to let me di… To give an ear attentive to my cry
Never again will I weep And wring my hands And beat my head against the wall Because Me nolentem fata trahunt
In my dreams I am always saying g… Whither and why I know not nor do… And the parting is sweet and the p… And sweetest of all is the night a… In my dreams they are always wavin…
Christ died for God and me Upon the crucifixion tree For God a spoken Word For me a Sword For God a hymn of praise
Why is the word pretty so underrat… In November the leaf is pretty wh… The stream grows deep in the woods… And in the pretty pool the pike st… He stalks his prey, and this is pr…
Deeply morbid deeply morbid was th… Always out of office hours running… But when daylight and the darkness… Not for this ah not for this her o… It was that look within her eye
Coleridge received the Person fro… And ever after called him a curse, Then why did he hurry to let him i… He could have hid in the house. It was not right of Coleridge in…
Drugs made Pauline vague. She sat one day at the breakfast t… Fingering in a baffled way The fronds of the maidenhair plant… Was it the salt you were looking f…
Our Bog is dood, our Bog is dood, They lisped in accents mild, But when I asked them to explain They grew a little wild. How do you know your Bog is dood