Laughter Ispleasant, Butthe Exertion Istoomuchfor Me.

I Like The Immaterial World. I Like To Live Among Thoughts And Images Of The Past And The Possible, And Even Of The Impossible, Now And Then.

Time, The Foe Of Man's Dominion, Wheels Around In Ceaseless Flight, Scattering From His Hoary Pinion Shades Of Everlasting Night.

When Scythrop Grew Up, He Was Sent, As Usual, To A Public School, Where A Little Learning Was Painfully Beaten Into Him, And From Thence To The University, Where It Was Carefully Taken Out Of Him.

I Never Failed To Convince An Audience That The Best Thing They Could Do Was To Go Away.

The Critic Does His Utmost To Blight Genius In Its Infancy; That Which Rises In Spite Of Him He Will Not See; And Then He Complains Of The Decline Of Literature.