hoskyns-fart

November 24, 2024

Reader, I was born and cried / Crackt so, smelt so, and so died, / Like to Caesar’s was my death, / He in senate lost his breath; / And alike interr’d doth lie, / Thy famous Romulus and I. / And, at last, like Flora fair, / I left the commonwealth mine air.

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Thought:

“I am irritated by my own writing. I am like a violinist whose ear is true, but whose fingers refuse to reproduce precisely the sound he hears within.”

Gustave Flaubert

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