Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Confessions of Boyhood by John Albee (inspirational books txt) 📖
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- Author: John Albee
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AVE ATGUE VALE
I shall not pass this way again;
But near by is the town where I was born;
I loved it well.
And near my heart my mother State;
She wreathed her sword with freedom, learning, law
When tyrants fell.
Three words from Athens held me long;
Nothing-too-much, proportion, harmony;
By these excel.
I never hurried for the goal,
But like the tortoise travelled steadily,
Sans band, sans bell.
Born when the star of Spring arose,
Haply my auspices were cast for calm
Of wood and dell.
Form I admired and sounds and scents;
Motion of waters, silences of stars--
Mighty their spell!
No senate called me from the plow;
No hundred thousand readers read my books--
They did not sell.
Many the friends when life was new
Heaven sent to me, but now, alas, reclaimed;
Sound, Muse, their knell.
You, who hereafter pass this way,
Remember him who made this simple book
And say farewell.
Imprint
AVE ATGUE VALE
I shall not pass this way again;
But near by is the town where I was born;
I loved it well.
And near my heart my mother State;
She wreathed her sword with freedom, learning, law
When tyrants fell.
Three words from Athens held me long;
Nothing-too-much, proportion, harmony;
By these excel.
I never hurried for the goal,
But like the tortoise travelled steadily,
Sans band, sans bell.
Born when the star of Spring arose,
Haply my auspices were cast for calm
Of wood and dell.
Form I admired and sounds and scents;
Motion of waters, silences of stars--
Mighty their spell!
No senate called me from the plow;
No hundred thousand readers read my books--
They did not sell.
Many the friends when life was new
Heaven sent to me, but now, alas, reclaimed;
Sound, Muse, their knell.
You, who hereafter pass this way,
Remember him who made this simple book
And say farewell.
Imprint
Publication Date: 05-21-2008
All Rights Reserved
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