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"The Wisest, the Brightest and the Meanest of Mankind" Francis Bacon was not only one of the greatest writers, but also a great English statesman, philosopher and politician. The great classical poet Alexander Pope regarded him as “the wisest, the brightest and the meanest of mankind”. Bacon is the Father of English essay. His essays are famous for their wit and aphoristic style. Most of the lines from his essays have always been acclaimed as immortal quotes. For example, we

Spenser masterpiece Fairy Queen is an exraordinary allegory. Dryden aptly remarks about Spenser: “ No man was ever born with a greater genius or more knowledge to support it”. He has been rightly described as the ‘poets’ poet’ as Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Shelley, Keats, Tennyson, the Pre-Raphaelites, and other numberless poets were immensely influenced by him. Spenser was able to finish only six books of the epic, though his aim was to write twelve books. Spenser’s ‘sweet mel

Curly-locks, Curly-locks, Will you be mine? You shall not wash dishes, Nor feed the swine; But sit on a cushion And sew a fine seam, And sup upon strawberries, Sugar and cream!

Nothing in the world is sane But animals and music Or the columns toted up In a dusty ledger. And Horowitz whose music makes A thousand thousand stars Bursting through a cloudless night, Illumining the sea -

I just saw a cop Dancing in the street With a little Black kid. Watching it was sweet. Affection is a thing Hate cannot defeat.

I pet my cat.  He shuts his eyes. In sleepy warm contentment lies. In my house he's not a waif, And thinks he is completely safe. Precious cat, you make me cry. You're no more secure than I.

A cat without fur, Crippled and old Still wants to be held When it’s cold.

I pet my cat.  He shuts his eyes. In sleepy warm contentment lies. In my house he's not a waif, And thinks he is completely safe. Precious cat, you make me cry. You're no more secure than I.

Do cats like wicked people? They sleep beside the old, And were once entombed with kings In pyramids of gold.

A cat without fur, Crippled and old Still wants to be held When it’s cold.

Hooked on concentration each knows his own stretch. In it for the long haul, their spools, slow-paced, reel in the afternoon. What they are looking for is river shimmer, a darting shadow to break the spell: something to unnerve them.   This may take some time.

the Fuji blimp patrols a giddy frizz   of skyline recognizable in order to be   aerially comforting an infant swaddled in a stroller   as if a flying object could be   image of the mother—   love settled fitfully on the ad line   as a butterfly its nectar