Stephen Crane
Stephen Crane
Stephen Cranewas an American poet, novelist, and short story writer. Prolific throughout his short life, he wrote notable works in the Realist tradition as well as early examples of American Naturalism and Impressionism. He is recognized by modern critics as one of the most innovative writers of his generation...
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth1 November 1871
CityNewark, NJ
cannot choose flew god plant standard
You cannot choose your battlefield, God does that for you; But you can plant a standard Where a standard never flew
feared man might wiser
A man feared that he might find an assassin; Another that he might find a victim. One was wiser than the other.
created fact man obligation replied
A man said to the universe: "Sir, I exist!" "However," replied the universe, "The fact has not created in me a sense of obligation
badge courage red wishes
He wishes that he, too, had a wound, a red badge of courage.
feature
It's not a big feature of our life.
hands
I don't like my hands tied. I am in misery. What did I say I am?
struggle littles tiny
If there is a witness to my little life,To my tiny throes and struggles,He sees a fool;And it is not fine for gods to menace fools.
strong lying home
Unwind my riddle.Cruel as hawks the hours fly;Wounded men seldom come home to die;The hard waves see an arm flung high;Scorn hits strong because of a lie;Yet there exists a mystic tie.Unwind my riddle.
lying wine dark
The word is clear only to the kind who on peak or plain, from dark northern ice-fields to the hot wet jungles, through all wine and want, through lies and unfamiliar truth, dark or light, are governed by the unknown gods, and though each man knows the law, no man may give tongue to it.
lying men horizon
I saw a man pursuing the horizon;Round and round they sped.I was disturbed at this;I accosted the man."It is futile," I said,"You can never-""You lie," he cried,And ran on.
war father yellow
Do not weep, babe, for war is kind.Because your father tumbled in the yellow trenches,Raged at his breast, gulped and died,Do not weep.War is kind.
rocks wind long
XXVIII "Truth," said a traveller, "Is a rock, a mighty fortress; "Often have I been to it, "Even to its highest tower, "From whence the world looks black." "Truth," said a traveller, "Is a breath, a wind, "A shadow, a phantom; "Long have I pursued it, "But never have I touched "The hem of its garment." And I believed the second traveller; For truth was to me A breath, a wind, A shadow, a phantom, And never had I touched The hem of its garment.
sky sun red
The red sun was pasted in the sky like a wafer.
book rain broads
In the swirling rain that came at dusk the broad avenue glistened with that deep bluish tint which is so widely condemned when it is put into pictures.