"A peculiar anthologic maze, an amusing literary chaos, a farrago of quotations, a mere olla podrida of quaintness, a pot pourri of pleasant delites, a florilegium of elegant extracts, a tangled fardel of old-world flowers of thought, a faggot of odd fancies, quips, facetiae, loosely tied" (Holbrook Jackson, Anatomy of Bibliomania) by a "laudator temporis acti," a "praiser of time past" (Horace, Ars Poetica 173).
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Wednesday, May 29, 2024
Komm, süßer Tod, komm, selge Ruh!
Sophocles, Philoctetes 797-798 (tr. Richard Jebb):
O Death, Death, though I am always summoning you
day after day, why do you never come?