Writing should be the settlement of dew on the leaf.
The finest poems of the world have been expedients to get bread.
Headwinds are sore vexations and the more passengers the sorer.
One idea lights a thousand candles.
The genius of life is friendly to the noble, and, in the dark, brings them friends from far.
Poverty, Frost, Famine, Rain, Disease, are the beadles and guardsmen that hold us to Common Sense.