Don Marquis
Don Marquis
Donald Robert Perry Marquiswas a humorist, journalist, and author. He was variously a novelist, poet, newspaper columnist, and playwright. He is remembered best for creating the characters "Archy" and "Mehitabel", supposed authors of humorous verse. During his lifetime he was equally famous for creating another fictitious character, "the Old Soak," who was the subject of two books, a hit Broadway play, a silent movieand a talkie...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth28 July 1878
CountryUnited States of America
I once heard the survivors of a colony of ants that had been partially obliterated by a cow's foot seriously debating the intention of the gods towards their civilization.
Old godheads sink in space and drown Their arks like foundered galleons sucked down.
For him who fain would teach the world The world holds hate in fee- For Socrates, the hemlock cup; For Christ, Gethsemane.
That stern and rockbound coast felt like an amateur when it saw how grim the puritans that landed on it were.
For all of the creeds are false, and all of the creeds are true; And low at the shrines where my brothers bow, there will I bow too; For no form of a god, and no fashion Man has made in his desperate passion, But is worthy some worship of mine; Not too hot with a gross belief, Nor yet too cold with pride, I will bow me down where my brothers bow, Humble, but open eyed.
The most pleasant and useful persons are those who leave some of the problems of the universe for God to worry about.
A little while with grief and laughter, And then the day will close; The shadows gather ... what comes after No man knows.
An old stomach reforms more whiskey drinkers than a new resolve.
the high cost of living isnt so bad if you dont have to pay for it
A certain alloy of expediency improves the gold of morality and makes it wear all the longer.
No form of government matters nearly as much as the spirit and intelligence brought to the administration of any form of government.
There was once a Hindu sage, who sat down on the banks of the Ganges and thought for seventy years about the millennium. Just as he arrived at the solution and was putting it into verse, a mosquito stung him and he forgot it again at once.
I suppose the human race is doing the best it can but hells bells thats only an explanation its not an excuse.
Poetry is what Milton saw when he went blind.