Send me no more reviews of any kind. I will read no more of evil or good in that line. Walter Scott has not read a review of himself for thirteen years .

I live not in myself, but I become Portion of that around me: and to me High mountains are a feeling, but the hum of human cities torture.

Glory, like the phoenix 'midst her fires, Exhales her odours, blazes, and expires.

If I don't write to empty my mind, I go mad.

Sweet is revenge-especially to women.

The Cardinal is at his wit's end - it is true that he had not far to go.

Retirement accords with the tone of my mind; I will not descend to a world I despise.