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Occupations-Authorship: Quotations from Cyclopedia of Practical Quotations
Let your literary compositions be kept from the public eye for nine years at least.— HORACE — An Introduction to the Art of
Poetry. A man may write at any time if he set himself doggedly to it.— SAM'L JOHNSON — Boswell's Life of
Johnson. 1773. Each change of many-coloured life he drew, Exhausted worlds and then imagined new: Existence saw him spurn her bounded reign, And panting Time toil'd after him in vain.— SAM'L JOHNSON — Prologue on the
Opening of the Drury Lane Theatre. No man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money.— SAM'L JOHNSON — Boswell's Life of
Johnson. 1776. The chief glory of every people arises from its authors.— SAM'L JOHNSON — Preface to Dictionary.
There are two things which I am confident I can do very well; one is an introduction to any literary work, stating what it is to contain, and how it should be executed in the most perfect manner.— SAM'L JOHNSON — Boswell's Life of
Johnson. 1755. To write much, and to write rapidly, are empty boasts. The world desires to know what you have done, and not how you did it. S.— GEORGE HENRY LEWES — The Spanish Drama. Ch. III.
If you once understand an author's character, the comprehension of his writings becomes easy.— LONGFELLOW — Hyperion. Bk. I. Ch. V.
Look, then, into thine heart and write!— LONGFELLOW — Voices of the Night. Prelude. St. 19.
Perhaps the greatest lesson which the lives of literary men teach us is told in a single word: Wait!— LONGFELLOW — Hyperion. Bk. I. Ch. VIII.
Whatever hath been written shall remain, Nor be erased nor written o'er again; The unwritten only still belongs to thee: Take heed, and ponder well what that shall be.— LONGFELLOW — Morituri Salutamus. L. 168.
It may be glorious to write Thoughts that shall glad the two or three High souls, like those far stars that come in sight Once in a century.— X. LOWELL — An Incident in a Railroad
Car. He that commeth in print because he woulde be knowen, is like the foole that commeth into the Market because he woulde be seen.— LYLY — Euphues. The Anatomy of Wit.
To the Gentlemen Readers. He who writes prose builds his temple to Fame in rubble; he who writes verses builds it in granite.— BULWER-LYTTON — Caxtoniana.
Essay XXVII. The Spirit of Conservatism. No author ever drew a character, consistent to human nature, but what he was forced to ascribe to it many inconsistencies.— BULWER-LYTTON — What Will He Do With It? Bk. IV. Ch. XIV.
Heading. The ink of the scholar is more sacred than the blood of the martyr.— MOHAMMED — Tribute to Reason.
Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true, But are not critics to their judgment too?— POPE — Essay on Criticism. L. 17.
Authors, like coins, grow dear as they grow old.— POPE — Satires. Epistles. Odes of Horace. Ep. I. Bk. II. L. 35.
E'en copious Dryden wanted, or forgot, The last and greatest art the art to blot.— POPE- — Second Book of Horace. Ep. I. L. 280.
In every work regard the writer's end, Since none can compass more than they intend.— POPE — Essay on Criticism. Pt. II. L. 55.
'Tis hard to say if greater want of skill Appear in writing or in judging ill; But, of the two less dang'rous is th' offence To tire our patience than mislead our sense.— POPE — Essay on Criticism. L. 1.
True ease in writing comes from art, not chance, As those move easiest who have learn'd to dance.— POPE — Essay on Criticism. L. 362.
Whether the darken'd room to muse invite, Or whiten'd wall provoke the skew'r to write; In durance, exile, Bedlam, or the Mint, Like Lee or Budgel I will rhyme and print.— POPE — Second Book of Horace. Satire I. L. 97.
Why did I write? what sin to me unknown Dipt me in ink, my parents', or my own? As yet a child, nor yet a fool to fame, I lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came.— POPE — Prologue to Satires. L. 125.
OCCUPATIONS-AUTHORSHIP. 429 With him most authors steal their works, or buy; Garth did not write his own Dispensary.— POPE — Essay on Criticism. L. 618.
Let him be kept from paper, pen, and ink; So may he cease to write, and learn to think.— PRIOR — To a Person who Wrote Ill.
On Same Person. 'Tis not how well an author says, But 'tis how much, that gathers praise.— PRIOR — Epistle to Fleetwood Shepherd.
As though I lived to write, and wrote to live.— SAM'L ROGERS — Italy. A Character. L. 16.
Devise, wit; write, pen; for I am for whole volumes in folio.— Shakespeare — Love's Labour's Lost. Act I. Sc. 2. L. 190.
Write till your ink be dry, and with your tears Moist it again, and frame some feeling line That may discover such integrity.— Shakespeare — Two Gentlemen of Verona. Act III. Sc. 2. L. 74.
Of all those arts in which the wise excel, Nature's chief masterpiece is writing well. S. JOHN SHEFFIELD (Duke of Buckinghamshire)-Essay on Poetry. Look in thy heart and write.— SIR PHILIP SIDNEY — Wm. Gray's Life
of Sir Philip Sidney. The great and good do not die even in this world. Embalmed in books, their spirits walk abroad. The book is a living voice. It is an intellect to which one still listens.— SAM'L SMILES — Character. Ch. X.
In every author let us distinguish the man from his works.— VOLTAIRE — A Philosophical Dictionary.
Poets. So must the writer, whose productions should Take with the vulgar, be of vulgar mould.— EDMUND WALLER — Epistle to Mr.
Killegrew. This dull product of a scoffer's pen.— WORDSWORTH — The Excursion. Bk. II.
An author! 'tis a venerable name! How few deserve it, and what numbers claim! Unbless'd with sense above their peers refined, Who stand up dictators to mankind? Nay, who dare shine, if not in virtue's cause That sole proprietor of just applause.— YOUNG — Epistles to Mr. Pope. Ep. II. From Oxford. L. 15.
For who can write so fast as men run mad?— YOUNG — Love of Fame. Satire I. L. 286.
Some write, confin'd by physic; some, by debt; Some, for 'tis Sunday; some, because 'tis wet; * * * * * * Another writes because his father writ, And proves himself a bastard by his wit.— YOUNG — Epistle to Pope. Bk. I. L. 75.
Blacksmithing. And him who, with the steady sledge, Smites the shrill anvil all day long.— BRYANT — The Song of the Sower. St. 4.
Curs'd be that wretch (Death's factor sure) who brought Dire swords into the peaceful world, and taught Smiths (who before could only make The spade, the plough-share, and the rake) Arts, in most cruel wise Man's left to epitomize!— ABRAHAM COWLEY — In Commendation
of the Time we live under, the Reign of our gracious King, Charles II. Come, see the Dolphin's anchor forged; 'tis at a white heat now: The billows ceased, the flames decreased; though on the forge's brow The little flames still fitfully play through the sable mound; And fitfully you still may see the grim smiths ranking round, All clad in leathern panoply, their broad hands only bare; Some rest upon their sledges here, some work the windlass there.— SAM'L FERGUSON — The Forging of the Anchor. St. 1.
And the smith his iron measures hammered to the anvil's chime; Thanking God, whose boundless wisdom makes the flowers of poesy bloom In the forge's dust and cinders, in the tissues of the loom.— LONGFELLOW — Nuremberg. L. 34.
As great Pythagoras of yore, Standing beside the blacksmith's door, And hearing the hammers, as they smote The anvils with a different note, Stole from the varying tones, that hung Vibrant on every iron tongue, The secret of the sounding wire, And formed the seven-chorded lyre.— LONGFELLOW — To a Child. L. 175.
Under a spreading chestnut tree The village smithy stands: The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands.— LONGFELLOW — The Village Blacksmith.
430 OCCUPATIONS-AUTHORSHIP. OCCUPATIONS-CABINET-MAKING. And he sang: "Hurra for my handiwork!" And the red sparks lit the air; Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made; And he fashioned the first ploughshare.— CHAS. MACKAY — Tubal Cain. St. 4.
In other part stood one who, at the forge Labouring, two massy clods of iron and brass Had melted.— MILTON — Paradise Lost. Bk. XI. L. 564.
I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus, The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool.— Shakespeare — King John. Act IV. Sc. 2. L. 193.
The paynefull smith, with force of fervent heat, The hardest yron soone doth mollify, That with his heavy sledge he can it beat, And fashion it to what he it list apply.— SPENSER — Sonnet XXXII.
Butchering. Whoe'er has gone thro' London street, Has seen a butcher gazing at his meat, And how he keeps Gloating upon a sheep's Or bullock's personals, as if his own; How he admires his halves And quarters-and his calves, As if in truth upon his own legs grown.— HOOD — A Butcher.
Who finds the heifer dead and bleeding fresh And sees fast by a butcher with an axe, But will suspect 'twas he that made the slaughter?— Shakespeare — Henry VI. Pt. II. Act III. Sc. 2. L. 188.
Why, that's spoken like an honest drovier; so they sell bullocks.— Shakespeare — Much Ado About Nothing. Act II. Sc. 1. L. 201.
The butcher in his killing clothes.— WALT WHITMAN — The Workingmen. Pt. VI. St. 32.
Cabinet-Making. Carved with figures strange and sweet, All made out of the carver's brain.— COLERIDGE — Christabel. Pt. I.
Ingenious Fancy, never better pleased Than when employ'd t' accommodate the fair, Heard the sweet moan of pity, and devised The soft settee; one elbow at each end, And in the midst an elbow it received, United yet divided, twain at once.— COWPER — The Task. Bk. I. L. 71.