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

~

jack collier

jackcollier7@talktalk.net

perhaps not the greatest writer

Fleming created an iconic character