of John Dryden
His imagination resembled the wings of an ostrich. It enabled him to run, though not to soar.
of John Dryden
His imagination resembled the wings of an ostrich. It enabled him to run, though not to soar.
There is a solitude of space There is a solitude of space A solitude of sea A solitude of death,…
Every morning in Africa, a gazelle wakes up. It knows it must run faster than the fastest lion or it…
When I hear artists or authors making fun of business men, I think of a regiment in which the band…