Are we not like the actor of old times, who wore his mask so long his face took its likeness?

One would think that an unsuccessful volume was like a degree in the school of reviewing. One unread work makes the judge bitter enough; but a second failure, and he is quite desperate in his damnation. I do believe one half of the injustice - the severity of 'the ungentle craft' originates in its own want of success: they cannot forgive the popularity which has passed them over.

Restraint is the golden rule of enjoyment.

A preface is a species of literary luxury, where an author, like a lover, is privileged to be egotistical.

Praise is sometimes a good thing for the diffident and the despondent. It teaches them properly to rely on the kindness of others.

I cannot love evergreens - they are the misanthropes of nature. To them the spring brings no promise, the autumn no decline; they are cut off from the sweetest of all ties with their kind - sympathy. ... I will have no evergreens in my garden; when the inevitable winter comes, every beloved plant and favorite tree shall drop together - no solitary fir left to triumph over the companionship of decay.

It is strange what society will endure from its idols.