When you want genuine music -- music that will come right home to you like a bad quarter, suffuse your system like strychnine whisky, go right through you like Brandreth's pills, ramify your whole constitution like the measles, and break out on your hide like the pin-feather pimples on a picked goose, -- when you want all this, just smash your piano, and invoke the glory-beaming banjo!

His ignorance covers the world like a blanket, and there's scarcely a hole in it anywhere.

That is an editor. He is trying to think of a word. He props his feet on a chair, which is the editor's way; then he can think better. I do not care much for this one; his ears are not alike; still, editor suggests the sound of Edward, and he will do. I could make him better if I had a model, but I made this one from memory. But is no particular matter; they all look alike, anyway. They are conceited and troublesome, and don't pay enough.

Those who do not read have no advantage over those who cannot read.

The community is eminently Portuguese - that is to say, it is slow, poor, shiftless, sleepy, and lazy.

Those who say truth is stranger than fiction have wasted their time on poorly written fiction.

But we love the Old Travelers. We love to hear them prate and drivel and lie.