Revision is its own reward.
The hands are the heart's messengers.
Not till the poets among us can be "literalists of the imagination"-above insolence and triviality and can present for inspection, "imaginary gardens with real toads in them." shall we have it.
When one is frank, one's very presence is a compliment.
I wonder what Adam and Eve think of it by this time.
Writing is an undertaking for the modest.