Authors

Smooth verse, inspired by no unlettered Muse.

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Write to the mind and heart, and let the earGlean after what it can.

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There is probably no hell for authors in the next world — they suffer so much from critics and publishers in this.

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And force them, though it was in spiteOf Nature and their stars, to write.

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But words are things, and a small drop of ink,That which makes thousands, perhaps millions think.

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But every fool describes, in these bright days,Death to his publisher, to him 'tis sport.

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And hold up to the sun my little taper.

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An author in his book must be like God in the universe, present everywhere and visible nowhere. (9 December 1852)

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There are two things which I am confident I can do very well; one is an introduction to any literary work, stating what it is to contain, and how it should be executed in the most perfect manner.

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A man may write at any time if he set himself doggedly to it.

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No man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money.

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It is the rust we value, not the gold;Authors, like coins, grow dear, as they grow old.

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I would not be like those Authors, who forgive themselves some particular lines for the sake of a whole Poem, and vice versa a whole Poem for the sake of some particular lines. I believe no one qualification is so likely to make a good writer, as the power of rejecting his own thoughts.

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Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true,But are not critics to their judgment too?

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True ease in writing comes from art, not chance,As those move easiest who have learn'd to dance.

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In every work regard the writer's end,Since none can compass more than they intend.

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Reviewers, with some rare exceptions, are a most stupid and malignant race. As a bankrupt thief turns thief-taker in despair, so an unsuccessful author turns critic.

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Authors—essayist, atheist, novelist, realist, rhymester, play your part,Paint the mortal shame of nature with the living hues of art.

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In every author let us distinguish the man from his works.

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This dull product of a scoffer's pen.

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Ideas are free. But while the author confines them to his study, they are like birds in a cage, which none but he can have a right to let fly : for till he thinks proper to emancipate them, they are under his own dominion.

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The invention of an author is a species of property unknown to the common law of England. Its usages are immemorial; and the views of it tend to the benefit and advantage of the public with respect to the necessaries of life, and not to the improvement and graces of mind.

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Some write, confin'd by physic; some, by debt;And proves himself a bastard by his wit.

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An author! 'tis a venerable name!That sole proprietor of just applause.

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For who can write so fast as men run mad?

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Some future strain, in which the muse shall tellAnd hold their farthing candle to the sun.

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And then, exulting in their taper, cry, "Behold the Sun;" and, Indian-like, adore.

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It is certainly not agreeable to natural justice that a stranger should reap the beneficial pecuniary produce of another man's work.

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A writer's fame will not be the less, that he has bread, without being under the necessity of prostituting his pen to flattery or party, to get it.

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He who engages in a laborious work (such, for instance, as Johnson's Dictionary) which may employ his whole life, will do it with more spirit if, besides his own Glory, he thinks it may be a provision for his family.

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The circumstance which gives authors an advantage above all these great masters, is this, that they can multiply their originals; or rather, can make copies of their works, to what number they please, which shall be as valuable as the originals themselves.

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Indeed, unless a man can link his written thoughts with the everlasting wants of men, so that they shall draw from them as from wells, there is no more immortality to the thoughts and feelings of the soul than to the muscles and the bones.

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A man of moderate Understanding, thinks he writes divinely: A man of good Understanding, thinks he writes reasonably.

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A man starts upon a sudden, takes Pen, Ink, and Paper, and without ever having had a thought of it before, resolves within himself he will write a Book; he has no Talent at Writing, but he wants fifty Guineas.

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And so I pennedFor length and breadth, the bigness which you see.

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Writers, especially when they act in a body and with one direction, have great influence on the public mind.

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The book that he has made renders its author this service in return, that so long as the book survives, its author remains immortal and cannot die.

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Dear authors! suit your topics to your strength,What weight your shoulders will, or will not, bear.

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Apt Alliteration's artful aid.

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That writer does the most, who gives his reader the most knowledge, and takes from him the least time.

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Habits of close attention, thinking heads,Tickle and entertain us, or we die!

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None but an author knows an author's cares,Or Fancy's fondness for the child she bears.

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So that the jest is clearly to be seen,The substitute for genius, sense, and wit.

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Oh! rather give me commentators plain,And hold their glimmering tapers to the sun.

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Smelling of the lamp.

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And choose an author as you choose a friend.

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The men, who labour and digest things most,'Twill cost you dear before he's understood.

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When I want to read a book I write one.

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The author who speaks about his own books is almost as bad as a mother who talks about her own children.

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The unhappy man, who once has trail'd a pen,Yet only eats and drinks what you think good.

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All writing comes by the grace of God, and all doing and having.

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For no man can write anything who does not think that what he writes is, for the time, the history of the world.

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The lover of letters loves power too.

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The writer, like a priest, must be exempted from secular labor. His work needs a frolic health; he must be at the top of his condition.

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Like his that lights a candle to the sun.

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Envy's a sharper spur than pay:Wits are gamecocks to one another.

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The most original modern authors are not so because they advance what is new, but simply because they know how to put what they have to say, as if it had never been said before.

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One writer, for instance, excels at a plan, or a title-page, another works away the body of the book, and a third is a dab at an index.

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Their name, their years, spelt by the unlettered Muse.

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His [Burke's] imperial fancy has laid all nature under tribute, and has collected riches from every scene of the creation and every walk of art.

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Whatever an author puts between the two covers of his book is public property; whatever of himself he does not put there is his private property, as much as if he had never written a word.

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But every little busy scribbler nowBrags of his impudence, and scorns to mend.

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Written with a pen of iron, and with the point of a diamond.

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He [Milton] was a Phidias that could cut a Colossus out of a rock, but could not cut heads out of cherry stones.

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Each change of many-coloured life he drew,And panting Time toil'd after him in vain.

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The chief' glory of every people arises from its authors.

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Damn the age; I will write for Antiquity.

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To write much, and to write rapidly, are empty boasts. The world desires to know what you have done, and not how you did it.

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If you once understand an author's character, the comprehension of his writings becomes easy.

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Perhaps the greatest lesson which the lives of literary men teach us is told in a single word* Wait!

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Whatever hath been written shall remain,Take heed, and ponder well what that shall be.

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Look, then, into thine heart and write!

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It may be glorious to writeOnce in a century.

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He that commeth in print because he woulde be knowen, is like the foole that commeth into the Market because he woulde be seen.

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He who writes prose builds his temple toFame in rubble; he who writes verses builds it in granite.

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No author ever drew a character, consistent to human nature, but what he was forced to ascribe to it many inconsistencies.

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You do not publish your own verses, Laelius; you criticise mine. Pray cease to criticise mine, or else publish your own.

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Jack writes severe lampoons on me, 'tis said—But he writes nothing, who is never read.

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He who writes distichs, wishes, I suppose, to please by brevity. But, tell me, of what avail is their brevity, when there is a whole book full of them?

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The ink of the scholar is more sacred than the blood of the martyr.

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To write upon all is an author's sole chanceFor attaining, at last, the least knowledge of any.

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Why did I write? what sin to me unknownI lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came.

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E'en copious Dryden wanted, or forgot,The last and greatest art—the art to blot.

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Whether the darken'd room to muse invite,Like Lee or Budgel I will rhyme and print.

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Let him be kept from paper, pen, and ink;So may he cease to write, and learn to think.

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'Tis not how well an author says,But 'tis how much, that gathers praise.

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As though I lived to write, and wrote to live.

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Devise, wit; write, pen; for I am for whole volumes in folio.

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Write till your ink be dry, and with your tearsThat may discover such integrity.

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Of all those arts in which the wise excel,Nature's chief masterpiece is writing well.

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Look in thy heart and write.

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The great and good do not die even in this world. Embalmed in books, their spirits walk abroad. The book is a living voice. It is an intellect to which one still listens.

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Ah, ye knights of the pen! May honour be your shield, and truth tip your lances ! Be gentle to all gentle people. Be modest to women. Be tender to children. And as for the Ogre Humbug, out sword, and have at him!

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What the devil does the plot signify, except to bring in fine things?

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But you're our particular author, you're our patriot and our friend,You're the poet of the cuss-word an' the swear.

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So must the writer, whose productions shouldTake with the vulgar, be of vulgar mould.

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