Quote

So I sit there kicked my heels, thinking about New Orleans, and watching a morbid blue-bottle fly attempt to commit suicide by butting his head against the windowpane.

Thomas Bailey Aldrich

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Thomas Bailey Aldrich
Age: 70 †
Born: 1836
Born: November 2
Died: 1907
Died: March 19
Editor
Journalist
Novelist
Poet
Writer
Portsmouth
New Hampshire
Head
Bottle
Thinking
Bottles
Heels
Attempt
Butting
Suicide
Windowpane
Commit
Morbid
Watching
Kicked
Blue
Orleans

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Books that have become classics - books that have had their day and now get more praise than perusal - always remind me of retired colonels and majors and captains who, having reached the age limit, find themselves retired on half pay.
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How fugitive and brief is mortal life between the budding and the falling leaf.
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Dialect tempered with slang is an admirable medium of communication between persons who have nothing to say and persons who would not care for anything properly said.
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Shakespeare is forever coming into our affairs -- putting in his oar, so to speak -- with some pat word or sentence.
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My mind lets go a thousand things, Like dates of wars and deaths of kings
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What is lovely never dies, but passes into other loveliness, Star-dust, or sea-foam, flower or winged air.
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It is the Lord's Day, and I do believe that cheerful hearts and faces are not unpleasant in His sight.
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Up from the dark the moon begins to creep and now a pallid, haggard face lifts she above the water-line: thus from the deep a drowned body rises solemnly.
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My father invested his money so securely in the banking business that he was never able to get any of it out again.
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The ring of a false coin is not more recognizable than that of a rhyme setting forth a false sorrow.
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The fanatic has the courage of his conviction and the intolerance of his courage. He is opposed to the death penalty for murder, but he would willingly have anyone electrocuted who disagreed with him on the subject.
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The man who suspects his own tediousness is yet to be born.
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October turned my maple's leaves to gold The most are gone now here and there one lingers: Soon these will slip from the twigs' weak hold, Like coins between a dying miser's fingers.
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