I confess . . . that I am not myself very much concerned with the question of influence, or with those publicists who have impressed their names upon the public by catching the morning tide and rowing very vast in the direction in which the current was flowing; but rather that there should always be a few writers preoccupied in penetrating to the core of the matter, in trying to arrive at the truth and to set it forth, without too much hope, without ambition to alter the immediate course of affairs, and without being downcast or defeated when nothing appears to ensue.

I gotta use words to talk to you.

Hungry Hatred, will not strive against intelligence self-interest.

For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith, But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.

Every moment is a fresh beginning.

For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business.

We might remind ourselves that criticism is as inevitable as breathing, and that we should be none the worse for articulating what passes in our minds when we read a book and feel an emotion about it, for criticizing our own minds in their work of criticism.