In the middle of Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, I began to despair of first, the human condition, and second, ever actually finishing the deceptively-short
“Tom read,—”Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”“Them’s good words, enough,” said the woman; “who
“A Dream Deferred” by Langston Hughes What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore– And
Have you ever been filled with despair because a book is too amazing to be true? Because the author’s wit flows effortlessly? Because the imagery
“For love is a flower that grows in any soil, works its sweet miracles undaunted by autumn frost or winter snow, blooming fait and fragrant
When we think about books, especially about what type of books we prefer, we tend to categorize them into genres, time periods, literary movements, etc.