On one hand, I read Robert Frost many years ago. Perhaps I remember it all. I could tell you that say this is all just refreshing my memory.
Or perhaps I don’t remember a thing of it, other than the vague idea of The Road Not Taken and nothing more.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
All the miles of a hard road are worth a moment of true happiness.
I enjoy fables. It’s a nice way to illustrate various lessons and morals and pass them along to children somewhat subtly. Especially when you take the wordcraft and illustrations of Arnold Lobel (Frog and Toad).
A long time ago (in high school), I was told by a teacher that he liked my poetry. It reminded him of William Blake. It’s the sort of comment that sticks with you. For me, I still remember it from time to time a decade and change later. It’s been a while since I’ve read any Blake, so perhaps it’s time for another go.
Throughout the Complete Works, there are essentially three parts to Blake’s writing:
The city knows. It remembers. Its past is written in its bones, though the past now speaks in silences.
The City of Stairs is a wonderful book. The start is remarkably dense, dropping you into the deep end of a complicated world with flavors I at least wasn’t as familiar with where Proper Nouns abound and the rules are uncertain–even to those living therein.
Many years ago, my mother would read aloud the Boxcar Children books to my brother and I. We read many many books together for many years, but the Boxcar Children are perhaps the ones I remember most. Now, perhaps it’s time to start passing that along to my own children.
From a child’s perspective, it’s a wonderful little book. The children are on a grand adventure, escapism idealized. They work together to not only survive but thrive without any adults telling them what to do. They get to make their own house in the woods and have a dog and everything ends up all right in the end.
That’s cute. I’ve never read it before.
It’s vaguely reminiscent of The Little House books, but without all the depressing doom and gloom of rebuilding over and over.
[Dirk Pitt] had always believed that insurmountable odds were surmountable.
These books are so ridiculous.
I do love the original Madeline story. It’s one I’ve read so much that I’ve memorized it, much to the confusion of the children whenever I decide to ‘read’ it without even holding the book.
All of these other Madeline stories are new to me and while some of them get quite frankly rather weird and there are a number of rhymes that are rather a stretch… they’re still wonderful little stories to read.
Another collection. These are bizarre little stories.
In one case, the moral is lying to others is bad; in many others, they do exactly that to get out of various situations.
