Trying to determine what is going on in the world by reading newspapers is like trying to tell the time read more

Trying to determine what is going on in the world by reading newspapers is like trying to tell the time by watching the second hand of a clock.

Hear, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots,
Frae Maidenkirk to Johnie Groat's;-
If there's a hole in read more

Hear, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots,
Frae Maidenkirk to Johnie Groat's;-
If there's a hole in a' your coats,
I rede you tent it:
A chield's amang you takin notes,
And, faith, he'll prent it.

Wooing the press is an exercise roughly akin to picnicking with a tiger. You might enjoy the meal, but the read more

Wooing the press is an exercise roughly akin to picnicking with a tiger. You might enjoy the meal, but the tiger always eats last.

I hope we never live to see the day when a thing is as bad as some of our newspapers read more

I hope we never live to see the day when a thing is as bad as some of our newspapers make it

The difference between literature and journalism is that journalism is unreadable and literature is not read.

The difference between literature and journalism is that journalism is unreadable and literature is not read.

Journalism largely consists of saying "Lord Jones is Dead" to people who never knew that Lord Jones was alive.

Journalism largely consists of saying "Lord Jones is Dead" to people who never knew that Lord Jones was alive.

Journalism is merely history's first draft.

Journalism is merely history's first draft.

The editor sat in his sanctum, his countenance furrowed with
care,
His mind at the bottom of business, read more

The editor sat in his sanctum, his countenance furrowed with
care,
His mind at the bottom of business, his feet at the top of a
chair,
His chair-arm an elbow supporting, his right hand upholding his
head,
His eyes on his dusty table, with different documents spread.

To serve thy generation, this thy fate:
"Written in water," swiftly fades thy name;
But he who read more

To serve thy generation, this thy fate:
"Written in water," swiftly fades thy name;
But he who loves his kind does, first and late,
A work too late for fame.