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Oscar Wilde

Imagination was given to man to compensate him for what he is not, and a sense of humor was provided to console him for what he is.

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The Tin Woodman gave a sigh of satisfaction and lowered his axe

“What can I do for you?” she inquired softly, for she was moved by the sad voice in which the man spoke.

“Get an oil-can and oil my joints,” he answered. “They are rusted so badly that I cannot move them at all; if I am well oiled I shall soon be all right again. You will find an oil-can on a shelf in my cottage.”

Dorothy at once ran back to the cottage and found the oil-can, and then she returned and asked anxiously, “Where are your joints?” Continue Reading

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The days in summer are as freshets of effulgences.

Both were silent again, as one man. The grey dawn came on, and the slumbering crew arose from the boat’s bottom, and ere noon the dead whale was brought to the ship. The season for the Line at length drew near; and every day when Ahab, coming from his cabin, cast his eyes aloft, the vigilant helmsman would ostentatiously handle his spokes, and the eager mariners quickly run to the braces, and would stand there with all their eyes centrally fixed on the nailed doubloon; impatient for the order to point the ship’s prow for the equator. In good time the order came. It was hard upon high noon; and Ahab, seated in the bows of his high-hoisted boat, was about taking his wonted daily observation of the sun to determine his latitude. Continue Reading

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