Will you come to see me Jack When I’m old and very shaky? Yes I will for you’re my dad And you’ve lost your last old lady Though you traveled very far To the highlands and the badlands And ripped off the family car Still, old dad, I won’t forsake you. Will you come to see me Jack? Though I’m really not alone. Still I’d like to see my boy For we’re lonesome for our own. Yes I will for you’re my dad Though you dumped me and my brothers And you sizzled down the road Loving other fellows’ mothers. Will you come to see me Jack? Though I look like time boiled over. Growing old is not a lark. Yes I will for you’re my dad Though we never saw a nickel As we struggled up life’s ladder I will call you and together We will cuddle up and… Read more →
EppsNet Archive: Literature
In Fair Verona
My son and I are in the kitchen looking for something to eat. He finds a bag of Pepperidge Farm Verona cookies (I prefer the Raspberry Milanos myself), holds the bag up to my face, and says In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean Two hours traffic on our stage blah blah blah Then he eats the cookies. So who says Shakespeare has no relevance for the modern student? Read more →
Marcus Aurelius on Sean Penn
The dictator and the useful idiot Keep before you the swift onset of oblivion, and the abysses of eternity before us and behind; mark how hollow are the echoes of applause, how fickle and undiscerning the judgements of professed admirers, and how puny the arena of human fame. For the entire earth is but a point, and the place of our own habitation but a minute corner in it; and how many are therein who will praise you, and what sort of men are they? — Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, IV.3 Read more →
Obviously Aurelius
I’m reading Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations when my son, referring to the cover photo above the author’s name, says, “Who’s that? Zeus?” “No,” I say. “Caesar?” “No. It’s Marcus Aurelius.” “Hmmm. That seemed too obvious.” Read more →
What is the Use of Knowing the Evil in the World?
And often you asked me, “What is the use of knowing the evil in the world?” I am out of your way now, Spoon River, Choose your own good and call it good. For I could never make you see That no one knows what is good Who knows not what is evil; And no one knows what is true Who knows not what is false. — Edgar Lee Masters, Spoon River Anthology, “Seth Compton” Read more →
One Grows Out of That Kind of Thing
‘Now it might be a very romantic sight to some chaps, a light burning in a tower window. I knew a poem about a thing like that once. Forgot it now, though. I was no end of a one for poetry when I was a kid — love and all that. Castle towers came in quite a lot. Funny how one grows out of that kind of thing.’ — Evelyn Waugh, Decline and Fall Read more →
Self-Reliance
To believe your own thought, to believe that what is true for you in your private heart is true for all men, — that is genius. In every work of genius we recognize our own rejected thoughts: they come back to us with a certain alienated majesty. Great works of art have no more affecting lesson for us than this. They teach us to abide by our spontaneous impression with good-humored inflexibility then most when the whole cry of voices is on the other side. Else, to-morrow a stranger will say with masterly good sense precisely what we have thought and felt all the time, and we shall be forced to take with shame our own opinion from another. God will not have his work made manifest by cowards. Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity of your own mind. Speak what you think now… Read more →
You Are Free to Choose
At the time the book [Brave New World] was written this idea, that human beings are given free will in order to choose between insanity on the one hand and lunacy on the other, was one that I found amusing and regarded as quite possibly true. — Aldous Huxley Read more →
Lit Quizzes
New additions to the First Lines and Last Lines quizzes: First Lines Call me Ishmael. It was a bright, cold day in April and the clocks were striking thirteen. Buck did not read the newspapers, or he would have known that trouble was brewing, not alone for himself, but for every tidewater dog, strong of muscle and with warm, long hair, from Puget Sound to San Diego. Last summer I happened to be crossing the plains of Iowa in a season of intense heat, and it was my good fortune to have for a traveling companion James Quayle Burden–Jim Burden, as we still call him in the West. The cold passed reluctantly from the earth, and the retiring fogs revealed an army stretched out on the hills, resting. Last Lines He loved Big Brother. At that, as if it had been the signal he waited… Read more →
On the Gulls’ Road
Even if you’re not a fan of the “young woman with a weak heart” plot — and who is? — “On the Gulls’ Road” by Willa Cather is a splendid short story. Read more →
Santayana: “I Told You So”
Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it. — George Santayana “Is that a fact?” she said. “Well–I’ve got news for Mr. Santayana: we’re doomed to repeat the past no matter what. That’s what it is to be alive. It’s pretty dense kids who haven’t figured that out by the time they’re ten.” “Santayana was a famous philosopher at Harvard,” said Slazinger, a Harvard man. And Mrs. Berman said, “Most kids can’t afford to go to Harvard to be misinformed.” — Kurt Vonnegut, Bluebeard Read more →
Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller
Somehow the realization that nothing was to be hoped for had a salutary effect on me. For weeks and months, for years, in fact, all my life I had been looking forward to something happening, some extrinsic event that would alter my life, and now suddenly, inspired by the absolute hopelessness of everything I felt relieved, felt as though a great burden had been lifted from my shoulders. Nothing that had happened to me thus far had been sufficient to destroy me; nothing had been destroyed except my illusions, I myself was intact. The world was intact. If now and then we encounter pages that explode, pages that wound and sear, that wring groans and tears and curses, know that they come from a man with his back up, a man whose only defenses left are his words and his words are always stronger than the lying, crushing… Read more →
Lit Quiz
Identify these two well-known novels from the first and last lines. Answers are in the comments. More lit quizzes here. Book One First line We were using the old blue china and the stainless steel cutlery, with place mats on the big oval table and odd-sized jelly glasses for the wine. Last line I said: “It’s the color of the sky.” Book Two First line The insuperable gap between East and West that exists in some eyes is perhaps nothing more than an optical illusion. Last line “The only proper action,” Colonel Green agreed. Read more →
Useless Junk
I had three pieces of limestone on my desk, but I was terrified to find that they required to be dusted daily . . . and threw them out the window in disgust. Read more →
American Pastoral by Philip Roth
But in Old Rimrock, New Jersey, in 1995, when the Ivan Ilyches come trooping back to lunch at the clubhouse after their morning round of golf and start to crow, “It doesn’t get any better than this,” they may be a lot closer to the truth than Leo Tolstoy ever was. The fact remains that getting people right is not what living is all about anyway. It’s getting them wrong that is living, getting them wrong and wrong and wrong and then, on careful reconsideration, getting them wrong again. That’s how we know we’re alive: we’re wrong. Maybe the best thing would be to forget being right or wrong about people and just go along for the ride. But if you can do that — well, lucky you. He had learned the worst lesson life can teach — that it makes no sense. And when that happens the… Read more →
Nelson Algren Goes to Hollywood
From a 1955 interview with Nelson Algren in The Paris Review: INTERVIEWER: How about this movie, The Man with the Golden Arm? ALGREN: Yeah. INTERVIEWER: Did you have anything to do with the script? ALGREN: No. No, I didn’t last long. I went out there for a thousand a week. and I worked Monday, and I got fired Wednesday. The guy that hired me was out of town Tuesday. Read more →
There is No Road
Is it all a dream, yes, perhaps a dream. . . . Death, its closeness. . . . Was I in prison once? I cannot remember. At the end of what is necessary, I have come to a place where there is no road. — Iris Murdoch, Jackson’s Dilemma Read more →
Names for Your Band
From Jonathan Lethem’s Motherless Brooklyn: You Fucking Mooks The Chocolate Cheeseballs Tony and the Tugboats Jerks from Nowhere Free Human Freakshow Bucky Dent and the Stale Doughnuts Read more →
Thomas Mann: Patron Saint of Bloggers
In the case of Mann and his diaries, what strikes one most is that he obviously felt that absolutely everything that happened to him was worthy of being recorded. . . . [The diaries] give the impression that Mann was thinking ahead to a studious future which would exclaim after each entry: ‘Good heavens, so that was the day when the Great Man wrote such and such a page of The Holy Sinner and then, the following night, read some verses by Heine, that is so revealing!’ — Javier Marias, Written Lives Read more →
Caulfield on Books
What I like best is a book that’s at least funny once in a while. … What really knocks me out is a book that, when you’re all done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it. That doesn’t happen much, though. — J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye Read more →