As I was going up the stairI met a man who wasn't thereHe wasn't there again todayI wish, I wish read more

As I was going up the stairI met a man who wasn't thereHe wasn't there again todayI wish, I wish he'd stay away. - The Psychoed.

Writing is one of the few professions in which you can psychoanalyse yourself, get rid of hostilities and frustrations in read more

Writing is one of the few professions in which you can psychoanalyse yourself, get rid of hostilities and frustrations in public, and get paid for it

Language is the blood of the soul into which thoughts run and out of which they grow.

Language is the blood of the soul into which thoughts run and out of which they grow.

Literature is the thought of thinking Souls.

Literature is the thought of thinking Souls.

The walls are the publishers of the poor.

The walls are the publishers of the poor.

The death of Dr. Hudson is a loss to the republick of letters.

The death of Dr. Hudson is a loss to the republick of letters.

Every man's memory is his private literature.

Every man's memory is his private literature.

Accent is the soul of a language; it gives the feeling and truth
to it.
[Fr., L'accent est read more

Accent is the soul of a language; it gives the feeling and truth
to it.
[Fr., L'accent est l'ame du discours, il lui donne le sentiment
et la verite.]

For every man there is something in the vocabulary that would stick to him like a second skin. His enemies read more

For every man there is something in the vocabulary that would stick to him like a second skin. His enemies have only to find it.