Utter originality is, of course, out of the question.

Allow me to say that I would long since have committed suicide had desisting made me a professor of Latin.

As a bathtub lined with white porcelain, When the hot water gives out or goes tepid, So is the slow cooling of our chivalrous passion, O my much praised but-not-altogether-satisfactory lady.

Great literature is simply language charged with meaning to the utmost possible degree.

Humanity is the rich effluvium, it is the waste and the manure and the soil, and from it grows the tree of the arts.

In our time, the curse is monetary illiteracy, just as inability to read plain print was the curse of earlier centuries.

In verse one can take any damn constant one likes, one can alliterate, or assone, or rhyme, or quant, or smack, only one MUST leave the other elements irregular.