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By AnonymDavid Mccord
A handful of sand is an anthology of the universe.
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By AnonymDavid Mccord
A pedestrian is a man in danger of his life. A walker is a man in possession of his soul.
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By AnonymDavid Mccord
Books fall open, you fall in, delighted where you've never been.
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By AnonymDavid Mccord
Books fall open, you fall in, delighted where you've never been; hear voices not once heard before, reach world on world through door on door; find unexpected keys to things locked up beyond imaginings. What might you be, perhaps become, because one book is somewhere? Some wise delver into wisdom, wit, and wherewithal has written it. True books will venture, dare you out, whisper secrets, maybe shout across the gloom to you in need, who hanker for a book to read.
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By AnonymDavid Mccord
But man must light for man The fires no other can, And find in his own eye Where the strange crossroads lie.
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By AnonymDavid Mccord
Life is a garment we continuously alter, but which never seems to fit.
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By AnonymDavid Mccord
March is outside the door Flaming some old desire As man turns uneasily from his fire.
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By AnonymDavid Mccord
Metaphorically these essays move as a quiet but observant coast-guard cutter among the rocks and islands up and down the littoral of our life.
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By AnonymDavid Mccord
The cricket's gone, we only hear machines In erg and atom they exact their pay. And life is largely lived on silver screens.
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By AnonymDavid Mccord
The decent docent doesn't doze; He teaches standing on his toes. His students dassn't doze and does, And that's what teaching is and was.
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By AnonymDavid Mccord
The high-ceilinged rooms, the little balconies, alcoves, nooks and angles all suggest sanctuary, escape, creature comfort. The reader, the scholar, the browser, the borrower is king.
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