Biographies are but the clothes and buttons of a man -- the biography of the man himself cannot be written.

Biographies are but the clothes and buttons of a man -- the biography of the man himself cannot be written.

The walls are the publishers of the poor.

The walls are the publishers of the poor.

Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.

Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.

Oh you who are born of the blood of the gods, Trojan son of Anchises, easy is the descent to read more

Oh you who are born of the blood of the gods, Trojan son of Anchises, easy is the descent to Hell; the door of dark Dis stands open day and night. But to retrace your steps and come out to the air above, that is work, that is labor! - Aeneid, The.

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.

For the high achievers, studying gave them the pleasing, absorbing challenge o flow 40 percent of the hours they spent read more

For the high achievers, studying gave them the pleasing, absorbing challenge o flow 40 percent of the hours they spent at it. But for low achievers, studying produced flow only 16 percent of the time; more often that not, it yielded anxiety, with the demands outreaching their abilities.

I've always believed in writing without a collaborator, because where two people are writing the same book, each believes he read more

I've always believed in writing without a collaborator, because where two people are writing the same book, each believes he gets all the worries and only half the royalties.

This life's dim windows of the soul. Distorts the heavens from pole to pole. And leads you to believe a read more

This life's dim windows of the soul. Distorts the heavens from pole to pole. And leads you to believe a lie when you see with, not through, the eye.

'Humph!' grunted Mr. Romford, seeing his worst fears about to be realized. He had dreamt that he had timbled over read more

'Humph!' grunted Mr. Romford, seeing his worst fears about to be realized. He had dreamt that he had timbled over a poodle in the drawing-room, and squirted a bottle of porter right into a lady's face. 'Who's goin' besides ourselves?' asked Romford, wishing to know the worst at once. 'Better be killed than frightened to death,' thought he. - Mr. Facey Romford's Hounds.