Writing Is Busy Idleness.

The Little That Is Completed, Vanishes From The Sight Of One Who Looks Forward To What Is Still To Do.

Know'st Thou Yesterday, Its Aim And Reason? Work'st Thou Will Today For Worthier Things? Then Calmly Wait The Morrow's Hidden Season, And Fear Thou Not, What Hap Soe'er It Brings

How To Please The Public - That's The Test, But Nowadays I Find I'm In A Fix; I Know They're Not Accustomed To The Best, But They've All Read So Much They Know The Tricks. How Can We Give Then Something Fresh And New That's Serious, But Entertaining Too?

As Soon As Any One Belongs To A Narrow Creed In Science, Every Unprejudiced And True Perception Is Gone.

I Know Nothing More Mocking Than A Devil That Despairs.