Hardly a book of human worth, be it heaven's own secret, is honestly placed before the reader; it is either shunned, given a Periclean funeral oration in a hundred and fifty words, or interred in the potter's field of the newspapers back pages.

A man who can be entertaining for a full day will be in his grave by night-fall.

I would rather take hellebore than spend a conversation with a good, little man.

Writing is conscience, scruple, and the farming of our ancestors.

Narcissus never wrote well nor was a friend.

One cat in a house is a sign of loneliness.

The bad poet is a toady mimicking nature.