Man hoards himself when he has nothing to give away.

We can only write well about our sins because it is too difficult to recall a virtuous act or even whether it was the result of good or evil motives.

No country has suffered so much from the ruins of war while being at peace as the American.

We are uneasy with an affectionate man, for we are positive he wants something of us, particularly our love.

What has a writer to be bombastic about? Whatever good a man may write is the consequence of accident, luck, or surprise, and nobody is more surprised than an honest writer when he makes a good phrase or says something truthful.

Perhaps Samuel Johnson was a great man; he was certainly a drumbling one.

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