Wed 17 Jun, 2020 02:44 am
Those articles or books written in excellent or beautiful English in your mind.
Please recommend some of them for me to enjoy.
To start with perhaps Anything written by Mark Twain. The request is far too broad in scope to answer as there a thousands of books and millions of articles to suggest. That being said, most works by William Safire would be a strong recommendation. His writing had many outlets ... including columns for the New York Times. He was a renowned lexicographer.
How about something scientific?
One day soon
an emerging technology
highlighted in this report
will allow you to virtually teleport to a distant site and actually feel the handshakes and hugs of fellow cyber travelers. Also close to becom- ing commonplace: humanoid (and animaloid) robots designed to socialize with people; a sys- tem for pinpointing the source of a food-poi- soning outbreak in just seconds; minuscule lenses that will pave the way for diminutive cameras and other devices; strong, biodegrad- able plastics that can be fashioned from other-
wise useless plant wastes; DNA-based data- storage systems that will reliably stow ginormous amounts of information; and more.
One of the most prolific writers of all time, particularly on scientific articles and papers is Isaac Asimov. Most people think of him as a science-fiction writer (Foundation Trilogy as well as Nightfall), but as he was also an MIT professor. As such, he’ s one of the most published authors of all time (white papers, etc.).
'I have nay tended the likeness of which mine own hand encumbered unto not thither'
Have A Lovely Day
How about some science articles to read? Comment on the title below will be appreciated:
Primary exposure to SARS-CoV-2 protects against reinfection in rhesus macaques
Anything by the late science fiction writer Roger Zelazny. Here is an excerpt from his book, "The Guns of Avalon" about parallel worlds:
"Riding, riding, through the wild, weird ways that led to Avalon, we went, Ganelon and I, down alleys of dream and of nightmare, beneath the brass bark of the sun and the hot, white isles of night, till these were gold and diamond chips and the moon swam like a swan. Day belled forth the green of spring, we crossed a mighty river and the mountains before as were frosted by night. I unleashed an arrow of my desire into the midnight and it took fire overhead, burned its way like a meteor into the north. The only dragon we encountered was lame and limped away quickly to hide, singeing daisies as it panted and wheezed. Migrations of bright birds arrowed our destination, and crystalline voices from lakes echoed our words as we passed. I sang as we rode, and after a time, Ganelon joined me. We had been traveling for over a week, and the land and the sky and the breezes told me we were near to Avalon now. We camped in a wood near a lake as the sun slid behind stone and the day died down and ceased."
Here are few selections from E. B. White, an author and essayist who wrote for the New Yorker
for many years. His prose has often been hailed for its clarity and White himself for his humanity.
If the world were merely seductive, that would be easy. If it were merely challenging, that would be no problem. But I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day.
I would feel more optimistic about a bright future for man if he spent less time proving that he can outwit Nature and more time tasting her sweetness and respecting her seniority.
The mind travels faster than the pen; consequently, writing becomes a question of learning to make occasional wing shots, bringing down the bird of thought as it flashes by. A writer is a gunner, sometimes waiting in the blind for something to come in, sometimes roaming the countryside hoping to scare something up.
A despot doesn't fear eloquent writers preaching freedom-he fears a drunken poet may crack a joke that will take hold.
Was about to say: anything in The New Yorker.