Grief dejects and wrings the tortured soul.

The men, who labour and digest things most, Will be much apter to despond than boast; For if your author be profoundly good, 'Twill cost you dear before he's understood.

Let us not write at a loose rambling rate, in hope the world will wink at all our faults.

Words are like leaves; some wither every year, and every year a younger race succeed.

Sound judgment is the ground of writing well.

Truth and fiction are so aptly mixed that all seems uniform and of a piece.

Abstruse and mystic thoughts you must express With painful care, but seeming easiness; For truth shines brightest thro' the plainest dress.