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To see distinctly the machinery—the wheels and pinions—of any work of Art is, unquestionably, of itself, a pleasure, but one which we are ...
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Sleep, those little slices of death; Oh how I loathe them.
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Depend upon it, after all, Thomas, Literature is the most noble of professions. In fact, it is about the only one fit for a man. For my own part, there is no seducing me from the path.
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Some sepulcher, remote, alone, Against whose portal she hath thrown,...
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I have great faith in fools; My friends call it self-confidence.
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