August for the people and their favourite islands. Daily the steamers sidle up to meet The effusive welcome of the pier.
Criticism should be a casual conversation.
I smell blood and an era of prominent madmen.
The poet marries the language, and out of this marriage the poem is born.
The camera may do justice to laughter, but must degrade sorrow.
A god who is both self-sufficient and content to remain so could not interest us enough to raise the question of his existence.