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…
Better worlds (I suggest) are born, not made; and their birthdays are the birthdays of individuals. Let us pray always…