He puts his right hand lightly on the cup, I put my left, leaving the right free to transcribe, and away we go. We get, oh, 500 to 600 words an hour. Better than gasoline.
To love is to believe, to hope, to know; Tis an essay, a taste of Heaven below!
The seas are quiet when the winds give o’er; So calm are we when passions are no more!
Knowing some Greek helped defuse forbidding words – not that I counted much on using them. You’ll find only trace elements of this language in the poem.
I’d like to think the scientists need us – but do they? Did Newton need Blake?
How small a part of time they share, That are so wondrous sweet and fair!
Before trying a novel I wrote a couple of plays.
Arthur Young’s Reflexive Universe – fascinating but too schematic to fit into my scheme. The most I could hope for was a sense of the vocabulary and some possible images.
Stronger by weakness, wiser men become.
Circle are praised, not that abound, In largeness, but the exactly round.