Anyway, I would read an author suggested by her and really enjoy him/her...for a while. Then move on to someone else. This puzzled my Aunt. "You get bored with writers pretty quickly, huh?", she once asked. Yes, I do. Even my own drivel. And I can control that. But I take what I can. What is there for me. Why stay? The authors are only human. They normally have only a few things to say and when they have said them, the rest is mere repetition...right? I have found that to be true of most all those that express themselves in any artform. Music, painting, prose or poetry... you name it. I certainly am a prime example of the above. I have a few things to say that I have concluded from taking a little of this and a little of that from those with only a few things to say. Y'know...humans. That is fine for artistic purposes. For politics it is kind of different. But that's as may be.
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the deathbed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.
This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long."