Vigorous writing is concise.

In his Philosophy of Style, Herbert Spencer gives two sentences to illustrate how the vague and general can be turned into the vivid and particular: In proportion as the manners, customs, and amusements of a nation are cruel and barbarous, the regulations of its penal code will be severe. In proportion as men delight in battles, bullfights, and combats of gladiators, will they punish by hanging, burning, and the rack.

Rather, very, little, pretty - these are the leeches that infest the pond of prose, sucking the blood of words. The constant use of the adjective little (except to indicate size) is particularly debilitating; we should all try to do a little better, we should all be very watchful of this rule, for it is a rather important one, and we are pretty sure to violate it now and then.

A drawing should have no unnecessary lines and a machine no unnecessary parts.

None are so fallible as those who are sure they're right.

To acquire style, begin by affecting none.

...when a sentence is made stronger, it usually becomes shorter. Thus, brevity is a by-product of vigor.