Damn The Age. I'll Write For Antiquity.

A Presentation Copy...is A Copy Of A Book Whoch Does Not Sell, Sent You By The Author, With His Foolish Autograph At The Beginning Of It; For Which, If A Stranger, He Only Demands Your Friendship; If A Brother Author, He Expects From You A Book Of Yours, Which Does Not Sell, In Return.

Not Childhood Alone, But The Young Man Till Thirty, Never Feels Practically That He Is Mortal.

Milton Almost Requires A Solemn Service Of Music To Be Played Before You Enter Upon Him. But He Brings His Music, To Which Who Listen Had Need Bring Docile Thoughts And Purged Ears.

All People Have Their Blind Side-their Superstitions.

I Love To Lose Myself In Other Men's Minds.... Books Think For Me.