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The bees pillage the flowers here and there but they make honey
of them which is all their own; read more
The bees pillage the flowers here and there but they make honey
of them which is all their own; it is no longer thyme or
marjolaine: so the pieces borrowed from others he will transform
and mix up into a work all his own.
[Fr., Les abeilles pillotent deca dela les fleurs; mais elles en
font aprez le miel, qui est tout leur; ce n'est plus thym, ny
marjolaine: ainsi les pieces empruntees d'aultruy, il les
transformera et confondra pour en faire un ouvrage tout sien.]
Fine words! I wonder where you stole 'em.
[Lat., Libertas et natale solum.]
Fine words! I wonder where you stole 'em.
[Lat., Libertas et natale solum.]
Take the whole range of imaginative literature, and we are all
wholesale borrowers. In every matter that relates to read more
Take the whole range of imaginative literature, and we are all
wholesale borrowers. In every matter that relates to invention,
to use, or beauty or form, we are borrowers.
He that readeth good writers and pickes out their flowres for his
own nose, is lyke a foole.
He that readeth good writers and pickes out their flowres for his
own nose, is lyke a foole.
Why, simpleton, do you mix your verses with mine? What have you
to do, foolish man, with writings that read more
Why, simpleton, do you mix your verses with mine? What have you
to do, foolish man, with writings that convict you of theft? Why
do you attempt to associate foxes with lions, and make owls pass
for eagles? Though you had one of Ladas's legs, you would not be
able, blockhead, to run with the other leg of wood.
When Shakespeare is charges with debts to his authors, Landor
replies, "Yet he was more original than his originals. read more
When Shakespeare is charges with debts to his authors, Landor
replies, "Yet he was more original than his originals. He
breathed upon dead bodies and brought them into life."
- Ralph Waldo Emerson,
Next o'er his books his eyes began to roll,
In pleasing memory of all he stole;
How read more
Next o'er his books his eyes began to roll,
In pleasing memory of all he stole;
How here he sipp'd, how there he plunder'd snug,
And suck'd all o'er like an industrious bug.
He liked those literary cooks
Who skim the cream of others' books;
And ruin half an author's read more
He liked those literary cooks
Who skim the cream of others' books;
And ruin half an author's graces
By plucking bon-mots from their places.
To copy others is necessary, but to copy oneself is pathetic
To copy others is necessary, but to copy oneself is pathetic