Anguish Of Suspense Made Men Even Desire

We Are Accustomed To Use Our Eyes Only With The Memory Of What Other People Before Us Have Thought About The Object We Are Looking At.

I Have Coveted Everything And Taken Pleasure In Nothing

Ale, Not Beer, In A Pewter Mug Was Comme Il Faut, The Only Thing For A Gentleman Of Letters, Worthy Of The Name, To Drink.

Anguish Of Suspense Made Men Even Desire The Arrival Of Enemies.

The Public Is Composed Of Numerous Groups Whose Cry To Us Writers Is: 'comfort Me.' 'amuse Me.' 'touch My Sympathies.' 'make Me Sad.' 'make Me Dream.' 'make Me Laugh.' 'make Me Shiver.' 'make Me Weep.' 'make Me Think.'