Dead men hear no tales; posthumous fame is an Irish bull.

Dead men hear no tales; posthumous fame is an Irish bull.

The Past: Our cradle, not our prison; there is danger as well as appeal in its glamour. The past is for inspiration, not imitation, for continuation, not repetition.

You cannot be anything if you want to be everything. But if you are content to be something, you may by analogy be many things.

There never was an age in which so many people were able to write badly.

The only true love is love at first sight; second sight dispels it.

I hate French poetry. What measured glitter!