Merit, God knows, is very little rewarded.
A laugh is worth a hundred groans in any market.
I like you and your book, ingenious Hone! In whose capacious all-embracing leaves The very marrow of tradition 's shown; And all that history, much that fiction weaves.
I allow no hot-beds in the gardens of Parnassus.
Here cometh April again, and as far as I can see the world hath more fools in it than ever.
Literature is a bad crutch, but a good walking-stick.