English, the finest and truest language ever known to mankind
Nobody can write a scene like Shakespeare, even though he couldn’t even spell his own name.
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers
For he today that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother
I cannot write prose like Mark Twain, even though he was naught but a steam boat pilot.
Never allow someone else to be your priority
while allowing yourself to be their option
Few can stir the blood like a Tennyson or Coleridge.
Half a league, half a league, half a league onward
into the valley of death rode the six hundred
Or evoke love and passion in the way of a Keats or Shelly.
A thing of beauty is a joy forever
its loveliness increases, it will never pass into nothingness
But I can write like me ~ direct, pithy, sanguine, and terse.
Haunting music of the wind, wave counterpointed, pink sky echoed
perhaps not the greatest writer
Fleming created an iconic character