A great age of literature is perhaps always a great age of translations.
A man of genius has a right to any mode of expression.
This is no book. Whoever touches this touches a man.
No picture is made to endure nor to live with but it is made to sell and sell quickly with usura, sin against nature, is thy bread ever more of stale rags is thy bread dry as paper.
What thou lovest well remains.
'Tis not need we know our every thought Or see the work shop where each mask is wrought Wherefrom we view the world of box and pit, Careless of wear, just so the mask shall fit And serve our jape's turn for a night or two.