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Proverbs, aphorisms, quotations (English) by Linux fortune

Did it ever occur to you that fat chance and slim chance mean the same thing?

Or that we drive on parkways and park on driveways?
The Worst American Poet
        Julia Moore, "the Sweet Singer of Michigan" (1847-1920) was so bad that
Mark Twain said her first book gave him joy for 20 years.
        Her verse was mainly concerned with violent death -- the great fire
of Chicago and the yellow fever epidemic proved natural subjects for her pen.
        Whether death was by drowning, by fits or by runaway sleigh, the
formula was the same:
                Have you heard of the dreadful fate
                Of Mr. P.P. Bliss and wife?
                Of their death I will relate,
                And also others lost their life
                (in the) Ashbula Bridge disaster,
                Where so many people died.
        Even if you started out reasonably healthy in one of Julia's poems,
the chances are that after a few stanzas you would be at the bottom of a
river or struck by lightning.  A critic of the day said she was "worse than
a Gatling gun" and in one slim volume counted 21 killed and 9 wounded.
        Incredibly, some newspapers were critical of her work, even
suggesting that the sweet singer was "semi-literate".  Her reply was
forthright: "The Editors that has spoken in this scandalous manner have went
beyond reason."  She added that "literary work is very difficult to do".
                -- Stephen Pile, "The Book of Heroic Failures"
Whenever Richard Cory went downtown,
        We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
        Clean-favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
        And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
        "Good morning," and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich -- yes, richer than a king --
        And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
        To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked, and waited for the light,
        And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
        Went home and put a bullet through his head.
                -- E.A. Robinson, "Richard Cory"
No guarantee of accuracy or completeness!
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