Some of My Favorite Books

  • Pawn of Prophecy by David Eddings
  • Magic Casement by Dave Duncan
  • A Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin
  • Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card
  • Passage by Connie Willis
  • The Fairy Rebel by Lynne Reid Banks
  • Dogsbody by Diana Wynne Jones
  • The Queen of Attolia by Megan Whalen Turner
  • Emily of New Moon by L.M. Montgomery

Some of My Favorite Movies

  • The Last Unicorn
  • The Matrix (only the first one!)
  • Castaway
  • The Usual Suspects
  • The Sixth Sense
  • Titanic
  • Rookie of the Year

Some of My Favorite Music

This tends to change rapidly, as I have a habit of deciding I like a song, buying it, and then playing it over and over until I’m sick of it. Artists I tend to like somewhat consistently: Dido, Keith Urban, the Corrs, Jennifer Paige, Martina McBride. Songs I tend not to get sick of: “Dreams” by the Corrs, “Thank You” by Dido, “I Hope You Dance” by Lee Ann Womack, “So Magical” by Martina McBride.

Some of My Favorite Poems

  • A thousand miles beyond this sun-steeped wall
    Somewhere the waves creep cool along the sand,
    The ebbing tide forsakes the listless land
    With the old murmur, long and musical;

    The windy waves mount up and curve and fall,
    And round the rocks the foam blows up like snow,–
    Tho’ I am inland far, I hear and know,
    For I was born the sea’s eternal thrall.

    I would that I were there and over me
    The cold insistence of the tide would roll,
    Quenching this burning thing men call the soul,–
    Then with the ebbing I should drift and be
    Less than the smallest shell along the shoal,
    Less than the sea-gulls calling to the sea.

  • On either side the river lie
    Long fields of barley and of rye,
    That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
    And through the field the road run by
    To many-tower’d Camelot;

    And up and down the people go,
    Gazing where the lilies blow
    Round an island there below,
    The island of Shalott.

    Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
    Little breezes dusk and shiver
    Through the wave that runs for ever
    By the island in the river
    Flowing down to Camelot.

    Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
    Overlook a space of flowers,
    And the silent isle imbowers
    The Lady of Shalott.

    By the margin, willow veil’d,
    Slide the heavy barges trail’d
    By slow horses; and unhail’d
    The shallop flitteth silken-sail’d
    Skimming down to Camelot:

    But who hath seen her wave her hand?
    Or at the casement seen her stand?
    Or is she known in all the land,
    The Lady of Shalott?

    Only reapers, reaping early,
    In among the bearded barley
    Hear a song that echoes cheerly
    From the river winding clearly;
    Down to tower’d Camelot;

    And by the moon the reaper weary,
    Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
    Listening, whispers, ” ‘Tis the fairy
    The Lady of Shalott.”

    There she weaves by night and day
    A magic web with colours gay.
    She has heard a whisper say,
    A curse is on her if she stay
    To look down to Camelot.

    She knows not what the curse may be,
    And so she weaveth steadily,
    And little other care hath she,
    The Lady of Shalott.

    And moving through a mirror clear
    That hangs before her all the year,
    Shadows of the world appear.
    There she sees the highway near
    Winding down to Camelot;

    There the river eddy whirls,
    And there the surly village churls,
    And the red cloaks of market girls
    Pass onward from Shalott.

    Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
    An abbot on an ambling pad,
    Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,
    Or long-hair’d page in crimson clad
    Goes by to tower’d Camelot;

    And sometimes through the mirror blue
    The knights come riding two and two.
    She hath no loyal Knight and true,
    The Lady of Shalott.

    But in her web she still delights
    To weave the mirror’s magic sights,
    For often through the silent nights
    A funeral, with plumes and lights
    And music, went to Camelot;

    Or when the Moon was overhead,
    Came two young lovers lately wed.
    “I am half sick of shadows,” said
    The Lady of Shalott.

    A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
    He rode between the barley sheaves,
    The sun came dazzling thro’ the leaves,
    And flamed upon the brazen greaves
    Of bold Sir Lancelot.

    A red-cross knight for ever kneel’d
    To a lady in his shield,
    That sparkled on the yellow field,
    Beside remote Shalott.

    The gemmy bridle glitter’d free,
    Like to some branch of stars we see
    Hung in the golden Galaxy.
    The bridle bells rang merrily
    As he rode down to Camelot:

    And from his blazon’d baldric slung
    A mighty silver bugle hung,
    And as he rode his armor rung
    Beside remote Shalott.

    All in the blue unclouded weather
    Thick-jewell’d shone the saddle-leather,
    The helmet and the helmet-feather
    Burn’d like one burning flame together,
    As he rode down to Camelot.

    As often thro’ the purple night,
    Below the starry clusters bright,
    Some bearded meteor, burning bright,
    Moves over still Shalott.

    His broad clear brow in sunlight glow’d;
    On burnish’d hooves his war-horse trode;
    From underneath his helmet flow’d
    His coal-black curls as on he rode,
    As he rode down to Camelot.

    From the bank and from the river
    He flashed into the crystal mirror,
    “Tirra lirra,” by the river
    Sang Sir Lancelot.

    She left the web, she left the loom,
    She made three paces through the room,
    She saw the water-lily bloom,
    She saw the helmet and the plume,
    She look’d down to Camelot.

    Out flew the web and floated wide;
    The mirror crack’d from side to side;
    “The curse is come upon me,” cried
    The Lady of Shalott.

    In the stormy east-wind straining,
    The pale yellow woods were waning,
    The broad stream in his banks complaining.
    Heavily the low sky raining
    Over tower’d Camelot;

    Down she came and found a boat
    Beneath a willow left afloat,
    And around about the prow she wrote
    The Lady of Shalott.

    And down the river’s dim expanse
    Like some bold seer in a trance,
    Seeing all his own mischance —
    With a glassy countenance
    Did she look to Camelot.

    And at the closing of the day
    She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
    The broad stream bore her far away,
    The Lady of Shalott.

    Lying, robed in snowy white
    That loosely flew to left and right —
    The leaves upon her falling light —
    Thro’ the noises of the night,
    She floated down to Camelot:

    And as the boat-head wound along
    The willowy hills and fields among,
    They heard her singing her last song,
    The Lady of Shalott.

    Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
    Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
    Till her blood was frozen slowly,
    And her eyes were darkened wholly,
    Turn’d to tower’d Camelot.

    For ere she reach’d upon the tide
    The first house by the water-side,
    Singing in her song she died,
    The Lady of Shalott.

    Under tower and balcony,
    By garden-wall and gallery,
    A gleaming shape she floated by,
    Dead-pale between the houses high,
    Silent into Camelot.

    Out upon the wharfs they came,
    Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame,
    And around the prow they read her name,
    The Lady of Shalott.

    Who is this? And what is here?
    And in the lighted palace near
    Died the sound of royal cheer;
    And they crossed themselves for fear,
    All the Knights at Camelot;

    But Lancelot mused a little space
    He said, “She has a lovely face;
    God in his mercy lend her grace,
    The Lady of Shalott.”

  • The park is filled with night and fog,
    The veils are drawn about the world,
    The drowsy lights along the paths
    Are dim and pearled.

    Gold and gleaming the empty streets,
    gold and gleaming the misty lake,
    The mirrored lights like sunken swords,
    Glimmer and shake.

    Oh, is it not enough to be
    Here with this beauty over me?
    My throat should ache with praise, and I
    Should kneel in joy beneath the sky.
    O, Beauty are you not enough?
    Why am I crying after love,
    With youth, a singing voice and eyes
    To take earth’s wonder with surprise?
    Why have I put off my pride,
    Why am I unsatisfied,–
    I for whom the pensive night
    Binds her cloudy hair with light,–
    I, for whom all beauty burns
    Like incense in a million urns?
    O, Beauty, are you not enough?
    Why am I crying after love?

  • The world is too much with us; late and soon,    
    Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;    
    Little we see in Nature that is ours;    
    We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!

    This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon,
    The winds that will be howling at all hours    
    And are up-gather’d now like sleeping flowers,    
    For this, for every thing, we are out of tune;

    It moves us not.—Great God! I’d rather be    
    A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn,—
    So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,

    Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;    
    Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;    
    Or hear old Triton blow his wreathéd horn.

Some of My Favorite Drawings (or, What I Did During Torts Class)

Torts is the area of law that deals with civil damages. I took it during my first year of law school in a small class designed to faciliate discussion. There was a lot of discussion. This is what I spent my time doing: