ellauri051.html on line 900: 318 The stumps stand thick round the clearing, the squatter strikes deep with his axe, 318 Kannot seisovat paksuna aukion ympärillä, squatter iskee kirveellä syvään,
xxx/ellauri085.html on line 106: If it is a surprise to learn that Lawrence originally conceived of Women in Love as a money-making pot-boiler, it comes as an endearing shock to read that James Joyce submitted some of his early work to the firm of Mills and Boon. There is no record of the reader’s report, beyond the fact that he rejected Dubliners as unsuitable material for the unique imprint of that publishing house. For his part, Lawrence had no doubt that the author of Ulysses was the real smutmonger of modern fiction. ‘My God, what a clumsy olla putrida James Joyce is!’, he wrote to Aldous Huxley, ‘nothing but old fags and cabbage-stumps of quotations from the Bible and the rest stewed in the juice of deliberate journalistic dirty-mindedness.’ To his wife Frieda he wrote, after reading Ulysses, that ‘the last part of it is the dirtiest, most indecent, obscene thing ever written’; and he later complained that Joyce had degraded the novel to the level of an instrument for measuring twinges in the toes of unremarkable men. Joyce’s reply to the charge that he was just another pornographer doing dirt on sex was to claim that at least he had never made the subject predictable or boring. He denounced Lady Chatterbox’s Lover — his title for Lawrence’s notorious novel — as a ‘lush’ production in ‘sloppy English’ and dismissed its ending as ‘a piece of propaganda in favour of something which, outside of DHL’s country at any rate, makes all the propaganda for itself’. It is a minor irony of literary history that both men were married at Kensington Register Office in London, although, unlike Lawrence, the Irishman allowed a decent interval of twenty-five years to elapse before the solemnisation of his nuptials.
xxx/ellauri123.html on line 769: One of the first things Nabokov makes a point of saying is that, despite John Ray Jr.'s claim in the Foreword, there is no moral to the story. Nabokov concludes the afterword with a reference to his beloved first language, which he abandoned as a writer once he moved to the United States in 1940: "My private tragedy, which cannot, and indeed should not, be anybody's concern, is that I had to abandon my natural idiom, my untrammeled, rich, and infinitely docile Russian language for a second-rate brand of English." Alas, that 'wonderful Russian language' which, I imagined, still awaits me somewhere, which blooms like a faithful spring behind the locked gate to which I, after so many years, still possess the key, turned out to be non-existent, and there is nothing beyond that gate, except for some burned out stumps and hopeless autumnal emptiness, and the key in my hand looks rather like a lock pick. Or floppy prick."
xxx/ellauri127.html on line 60: However, Kilmer's eldest son, Kenton, declares that the poem does not apply to any one tree—that it could apply equally to any. "Trees" was written in an upstairs bedroom at the family's home in Mahwah, New Jersey, that "looked out down a hill, on our well-wooded lawn". Kenton Kilmer stated that while his father was "widely known for his affection for trees, his affection was certainly not sentimental—the most distinguished feature of Kilmer's property was a colossal woodpile outside his home". The house stood in the middle of a forest and what lawn it possessed was obtained only after Kilmer had spent months of weekend toil in chopping down trees, pulling up stumps, and splitting logs. Kilmer's neighbors had difficulty in believing that a man who could do that could also be a poet.
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