Jules Renard: The last verses of Verlaine . It's no longer a piece of writing: it's a dice game made with words.

The last verses of Verlaine . It's no longer a piece of writing: it's a dice gam — Jules Renard

The last verses of Verlaine . It's no longer a piece of writing: it's a dice game made with words.

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Imagine life without death . Out of desperation, people would try to kill themse — Jules Renard
First Communion : the children all seem to have been injured in their left arm. — Jules Renard
What about the wind ? All the gusts of wind come to moan at his door. — Jules Renard
The cat is the life of furniture. — Jules Renard
Poetry written by Abraham Lincoln — Abraham Lincoln
“I regard the Ramayana of Tulsi Das,” says Gandhi, “as the greatest book in all — Tulsidas
Now you who rhyme, and I who rhyme, Have not we sworn it, many a time, That we n — William Shakespeare
Sunshine cannot bleach the snow, Nor time unmake what poets know. — Ralph Waldo Emerson
Domestic Happiness, thou only bliss Of Paradise that hast survived the Fall! — William Cowper
Our greatest good, and what we least can spare, Is hope: the last of all our evi — John Armstrong
The Lincoln - Douglas Debates — Abraham Lincoln
Arm in Arm mit dir, So fordr' ich mein Jahrhundert in die Schranken. Thus Arm in — Friedrich Schiller