ERNEST POOLE
American journalist, playwright, short story writer and novelist (1880 - 1950)
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He was thinking of the town he had known. Not of old New
York--he had heard of that from old, old men when he himself had
still been young and had smiled at their garrulity. He was
thinking of a young New York, the mighty throbbing city to
which he had come long ago as a lad from the New Hampshire
mountains. A place of turbulent thoroughfares, of shouting
drivers, hurrying crowds, the crack of whips and the clatter of
wheels; an uproarious, thrilling town of enterprise, adventure,
youth; a city of pulsing energies, the center of a boundless
land; a port of commerce with all the world, of stately ships
with snowy sails; a fascinating pleasure town, with throngs of
eager travelers hurrying from the ferryboats and rolling off in
hansom cabs to the huge hotels on Madison Square. A city where
American faces were still to be seen upon all its streets, a
cleaner and an kindlier town, with more courtesy in its life,
less of the vulgar scramble.
- His Family (ch. 1) [Books (First Lines)]
"You chump," I thought contemptuously. I was seven years old at
the time, and the gentleman to whom I referred was Henry Ward
Beecher. What it was that aroused my contempt for the man will
be more fully understood if I tell first of the grudge that I
bore him.
- The Harbor (bk. 1, ch. 1)
[Books (First Lines)]
Last Revised: 2009 April 2
Copyright © 1999-2009 John C. Shepard. All Rights Reserved.
The GIGA name and logo are trademarks registered in the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office by John C. Shepard.
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