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…
A print addict is a man who reads in elevators. People occasionally look at me curiously when they see me…