Prose

Emerson - A Man Before the Verge

I recently finished reading through The Essential Writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson (Modern Library Classics) , and it wasn't exactly a romp, let me tell you. I bought it while visiting the homes of American literary figures in New England a few years back. Frost at one of Robert Frost's houses. Dickinson, in Amherst. Longfellow in Cambridge. And Emerson - at his home in Concord. And once having bought, I had to read. Read more about Emerson - A Man Before the Verge

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Colette

By leaning over the garden wall, I could scratch with my finger the poultry-house roof. The Upper Garden overlooked the Lower Garden - a warm, confined enclosure reserved for the cultivation of augergines and pimentos - where the smell of tomato leaves mingled in July with that of the apricots ripening on the walls. In the Upper Garden were two twin firs, a walnut-tree whose intolerant shade killed any flowers beneath it, some rose-bushes, a neglected lawn and a dilapidated arbour.

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Power to the Sheeple

It's always been a conundrum to me that the same people who talk about "power to the people," tend to refer to people who follow a different leader as "sheeple." Has to be the word I love most to hate. I don't interact with enough conservative points of view to know if they use it on a regular basis, but I do hear it all too often from my leftie co-conspirators, and whenever possible I call them on it. Like "Hitler," it's one of those words that tells me I will find little beyond this point to interest me. Read more about Power to the Sheeple

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