A Cat Is Only Technically An Animal,

It Is The Custom When Praising A Russian Writer To Do So At The Expense Of All Other Russian Writers.

With Wordsworth, Indeed, The Light Of Revelation Did Not Fall Upon Human Beings So Unbrokenly As Upon The Face Of The Earth. He Knew The Birds Of The Countryside Better Than The Old Men, And The Flowers Far Better Than The Children.

Mystery Lies Over The Sea. Every Ship Is Bound For Thule.

Most Human Beings Are Quite Likable If You Don't See Too Much Of Them.

On The Whole, However, The Critic Is Far Less Of A Professional Faultfinder Than Is Sometimes Imagined. He Is First Of All A Virtue-finder, A Singer Of Praise. He Is Not Concerned With Getting Rid Of Dross Except In So Far As It Hides The Gold. In Other Words, The Destructive Side Of Criticism Is Purely A Subsidiary Affair. None Of The Best Critics Have Been Men Of Destructive Minds. They Are Like Gardeners Whose Business Is More With The Flowers Than With The Weeds.