All who (like him) have writ ill plays before,
For they, like thieves, condemned, are hangman made,
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All who (like him) have writ ill plays before,
For they, like thieves, condemned, are hangman made,
To execute the members of their trade.

They who write ill, and they who ne'er durst write,
Turn critics out of mere revenge and spite.

They who write ill, and they who ne'er durst write,
Turn critics out of mere revenge and spite.

He has the right to criticize who has the heart to help.

He has the right to criticize who has the heart to help.

Said the pot to the kettle, "Get away, blackface."
[Sp., Dijo la sarten a la caldera, quitate alla ojinegra.]

Said the pot to the kettle, "Get away, blackface."
[Sp., Dijo la sarten a la caldera, quitate alla ojinegra.]

Do what you feel in your heart to be right – for you’ll be criticized anyway.

Do what you feel in your heart to be right – for you’ll be criticized anyway.

As soon
Seek roses in December--ice in June,
Hope, constancy in wind, or corn in chaff;
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As soon
Seek roses in December--ice in June,
Hope, constancy in wind, or corn in chaff;
Believe a woman or an epitaph,
Or any other thing that's false, before
You trust in critics.

Any fool can criticize, condemn and complain and most fools do.

Any fool can criticize, condemn and complain and most fools do.

A man must serve his time to every trade
Save censure--critics all are ready made.
Take hackney'd read more

A man must serve his time to every trade
Save censure--critics all are ready made.
Take hackney'd jokes from Miller, got by rote,
With just enough of learning to misquote;
A mind well skill'd to find or forge a fault;
A turn for punning, call it Attic salt;
To Jeffrey go, be silent and discreet,
His pay is just ten sterling pounds per sheet;
Fear not to lie, 'twill seem a lucky hit;
Shrink not from blasphemy, 'twill pass for wit;
Care not for feeling--pass your proper jest,
And stand a critic, hated yet caress'd.

Critics? Don't talk to me of critics! You think some jackanapes journalist, his soul eaten away by the maggots of read more

Critics? Don't talk to me of critics! You think some jackanapes journalist, his soul eaten away by the maggots of jealousy and failure, has anything worthwhile to say of art? I don't.