One thing that Marxist criticism has not succeeded in doing is to trace the connection between “tendency” and literary style. The subject-matter and imagery of a book can be explain...

Sharply the menacing wind sweeps o… The bending poplars, newly bare, And the dark ribbons of the chimne… Veer downward; flicked by whips of… Torn posters flutter; coldly sound

A happy vicar I might have been Two hundred years ago To preach upon eternal doom And watch my walnuts grow; But born, alas, in an evil time,

The Italian soldier shook my hand Beside the guard—room table; The strong hand and the subtle han… Whose palms are only able To meet within the sounds of guns,

When he woke it was with the sensation of having slept for a long time, but a glance at the old-fashioned clock told him that it was only twenty– thirty. He lay dozing for a while; then...

Dickens is one of those writers who are well worth stealing. Even the burial of his body in Westminster Abbey was a species of theft, if you come to think of it. When Chesterton wrote h...

He must, he thought, have been ten or eleven years old when his mother had disappeared. She was a tall, statuesque, rather silent woman with slow movements and magnificent fair hair. Hi...

He was lying on something that felt like a camp bed, except that it was higher off the ground and that he was fixed down in some way so that he could not move. Light that seemed stronge...

A dressed man and a naked man Stood by the kip—house fire, Watching the sooty cooking—pots That bubble on the wire; And bidding tanners up and down,