Who is Aldous Huxley

Aldous Leonard Huxley (26 July 1894 – 22 November 1963) was an English writer and philosopher. He authored nearly fifty books—both novels and non-fiction works—as well as wide-ranging essays, narratives, and poems.

Born into the prominent Huxley family, he graduated from Balliol College with an undergraduate degree in English literature. Early in his career, he published short stories and poetry and edited the literary magazine Oxford Poetry, before going on to publish travel writing, satire, and screenplays. He spent the latter part of his life in the United States, living in Los Angeles from 1937 until his death. By the end of his life, Huxley was widely acknowledged as one of the foremost intellectuals of his time. He was nominated for the Nobel Prize in Litera...
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Aldous Huxley Poems

  • Minoan Porcelain
    Her eyes of bright unwinking glaze
    All imperturbable do not
    Even make pretences to regard
    The justing absence of her stays,...
  • By The Fire
    We who are lovers sit by the fire,
    Cradled warm 'twixt thought and will,
    Sit and drowse like sleeping dogs
    In the equipoise of all desire,...
  • Song Of Poplars
    Shepherd, to yon tall poplars tune your flute:
    Let them pierce, keenly, subtly shrill,
    The slow blue rumour of the hill;
    Let the grass cry with an anguish of evening gold,...
  • Poem
    Books and a coloured skein of thoughts were mine;
    And magic words lay ripening in my soul
    Till their much-whispered music turned a wine
    Whose subtlest power was all in my control....
  • On The Bus
    Sitting on the top of the 'bus,
    I bite my pipe and look at the sky.
    Over my shoulder the smoke streams out
    And my life with it....
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Top 10 most used topics by Aldous Huxley

Night 12 Fire 11 Sky 11 Soul 11 Mind 11 Love 10 I Love You 10 Never 10 Beauty 10 Bright 10


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Poem of the day

Thomas Moore Poem
Lay His Sword By His Side
 by Thomas Moore

Lay his sword by his side -- it hath served him too well
Not to rest near his pillow below;
To the last moment true, from his hand ere it fell,
Its point was still turn'd to a flying foe.
Fellow-labourers in life, let them slumber in death,
Side by side, as becomes the reposing brave --
That sword which he loved still unbroke in its sheath,
And himself unsubdued in his grave.
...

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