The Critic Does His Utmost To Blight

My Quarrel With Him Is, That His Works Contain Nothing Worth Quoting; And A Book That Furnishes No Quotations, Is Me Judice, No Book,—it Is A Plaything.

Clouds On Clouds, In Volumes Driven, Curtain Round The Vault Of Heaven.

Seamen Three! What Men Be Ye? Gotham's Three Wise Men We Be. Whither In Your Bowl So Free? To Rake The Moon From Out The Sea. The Bowl Goes Trim. The Moon Doth Shine, And Our Ballast Is Old Wine.

The Highest Wisdom And The Highest Genius Have Been Invariably Accompanied With Cheerfulness. We Have Sufficient Proofs On Record That Shakespeare And Socrates Were The Most Festive Companions.

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.