As Is The Inventor Of

No Progressive Knowledge Will Ever Medicine That Dread Misgiving Of A Mysterious And Pathless Power Given To Words Of A Certain Import.

It Was A Sunday Afternoon, Wet And Cheerless; And A Duller Spectacle This Earth Of Ours Has Not To Show Than A Rainy Sunday In London.

The Public Is A Bad Guesser.

Often One's Dear Friend Talks Something Which One Scruples To Call Rigmarole.

But My Way Of Writing Is Rather To Think Aloud, And Follow My Own Humours, Than Much To Consider Who Is Listening To Me; And, If I Stop To Consider What Is Proper To Be Said To This Or That Person, I Shall Soon Come To Doubt Whether Any Part At All Is Proper.