I cannot describe to you the despairing sensation of trying to do something for a man who seems incapable or unwilling to do anything further for himself.
Such hath it been--shall be--beneath the sun The many still must labour for the one.
Thy decay's still impregnate with divinity.
That low vice, curiosity!
Go let thy less than woman's hand Assume the distaff not the brand.
If I don't write to empty my mind, I go mad. As to that regular, uninterrupted love of writing. I do not understand it. I feel it as a torture, which I must get rid of, but never as a pleasure. On the contrary, I think composition a great pain.