How Many Persons Must There Be Who

I Find No Intellect Comparable To My Own

Every Fact Is Impure, But Every Fact Contains In It The Juices Of Life. Every Fact Is A Clod, From Which May Grow An Amaranth Or A Palm.

The Use Of Criticism, In Periodical Writing, Is To Sift, Not To Stamp A Work.

Put Up At The Moment Of Greatest Suffering A Prayer, Not For Thy Own Escape, But For The Enfranchisement Of Some Being Dear To Thee, And The Sovereign Spirit Will Accept Thy Ransom.

The Critic Is Beneath The Maker, But Is His Needed Friend. The Critic Is Not A Base Caviler, But The Younger Brother Of Genius. Next To Invention Is The Power Of Interpreting Invention; Next To Beauty The Power Of Appreciating Beauty. And Of Making Others Appreciate It.