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Father calls me William, sister calls me Will, Mother calls me Willie, but the fellows call me Bill!.

Eugene Field

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Eugene Field
Age: 45 †
Born: 1850
Born: September 3
Died: 1895
Died: November 4
Editor
Journalist
Poet
Writer
St. Louis
Missouri
Fellows
Bills
Names
Call
Willie
Father
William
Mother
Calls
Sister
Bill

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When I demanded of my friend what viands he preferred, He quoth: A large cold bottle, and a small hot bird!
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But he who truly loves books loves all books alike, and not only this, but it grieves him that all other men do not share with him this noble passion. Verily, this is the most unselfish of loves!
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What smells so? Has somebody been burning a Rag, or is there a Dead Mule in the Back yard? No, the Man is Smoking a Five-Cent Cigar.
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A mighty good sausage stuffer was spoiled when the man became a poet.
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He is so mean, he won't let his little baby have more than one measle at a time.
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Let my temptation be a book.
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Not so, however, with books, for books cannot change. A thousand years hence they are what you find them to-day, speaking the same words, holding forth the same cheer, the same promise, the same comfort always constant, laughing with those who laugh and weeping with those who weep.
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Ideas came with explosive immediacy, like an instant birth. Human thought is like a monstrous pendulum it keeps swinging from one extreme to the other.
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All human joys are swift of wing, For heaven doth so allot it That when you get an easy thing, You find you haven't got it
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Let my temptation be a book, which I shall purchase, hold and keep.
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I'd like a stocking made for a giant, And a meeting house full of toys, Then I'd go out in a happy hunt For the poor little girls and boys Up the street and down the street, And across and over the town, I'd search and find them everyone, Before the sun went down.
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Some statesmen go to Congress and some go to jail. It is the same thing, after all.
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But I, when I undress me Each night, upon my knees Will ask the Lord to bless me With apple-pie and cheese.
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Books do actually consume air and exhale perfumes.
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There is a glorious candor in an honest quart of wine, A certain inspitation which I cannot well define.
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Have you an unexpurgated copy of Hannah More's 'Letters to a Village Maiden'?
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Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night Sailed off in a wooden shoe, - Sailed on a river of crystal light Into a sea of dew.
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The best of all physiciansIs apple pie and cheese!
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