One night, late in October, he returned from the Boulevard de Clichy just after midnight. Madame Dutruelle, having be
2019-04-09
The discovery of a body in the Paris Metro early one morning was not particularly unusual. That it was headless sent
She was walking lazily, for the fierce April sun was directly overhead. Her umbrella blocked its rays but nothing blo
"You don't have to be French to enjoy a decent red wine," Charles Jousselin de Gruse used to tell his f
Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments; love is not love Which alters when it alteration find
They that have power to hurt and will do none, That do not do the thing they most do show, Who moving others are
Weary with toil I haste me to my bed, The dear repose for limbs with travel tired; But then begins a journey in m
SHALL I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds do shake the dar
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow, And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field, Thy youth's proud
What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculty! in form, in moving, how express an
O curse of marriage! That we can call these delicate creatures ours, And not their appetites! I had rather
Tiger! Tiger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful sym
O Rose, thou art sick! The invisible worm, That flies in the night, In the howling storm, Has fou
Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves' eyes within thy locks: thy hair is as a f
This sonnet (a poem of 14 lines) is by Wilfred Owen—perhaps the most famous of the First World War English poet