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.]
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We can say nothing but what hath been said . . . Our poets steal
from Homer . . read more
We can say nothing but what hath been said . . . Our poets steal
from Homer . . . . Our storydressers do as much; he that comes
last is commonly best.
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.
Who, to patch up his fame--or fill his purse--
Still pilfers wretched plans, and makes them worse;
read more
Who, to patch up his fame--or fill his purse--
Still pilfers wretched plans, and makes them worse;
Like gypsies, lest the stolen brat be known,
Defacing first, then claiming for his own.
My books need no one to accuse or judge you: the page which is
yours stands up against you read more
My books need no one to accuse or judge you: the page which is
yours stands up against you and says, "You are a thief."
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.
To copy others is necessary, but to copy oneself is pathetic
To copy others is necessary, but to copy oneself is pathetic
When 'Omer smote 'is bloomin' lyre,
He'd 'eard men sing by land an' sea;
An' what he read more
When 'Omer smote 'is bloomin' lyre,
He'd 'eard men sing by land an' sea;
An' what he thought 'e might require,
'E went an' took--the same as me.
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.
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,
