All my life, as down an abyss without a bottom. I have been pouring van loads of information into that vacancy of oblivion I call my mind.

An improper mind is a perpetual feast.

People before the public live an imagined life in the thought of others, and flourish or feel faint as their self outside themselves grows bright or dwindles in that mirror.

We should nourish our souls on the dew of Poesy, and manure them as well.

Fine writers should split hairs together, and sit side by side, like friendly apes, to pick the fleas from each others fur.

Those who set out to serve both God and Mammon soon discover that there isn't a God.

If you want to be thought a liar, always tell the truth