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

Beware what spirit rages in your breast; for one inspired, ten thousand are possessed.

I will not quarrel with a slight mistake, Such as our nature's frailty may excuse.

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

What you keep by you, you may change and mend but words, once spoken, can never be recalled.

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

You gain your point if your industrious art can make unusual words easy.