again, and always with renewed pleasure. By repeatedly turning over a thought in the mind one loses, too, the itch for brilliancy and strikes out what is merely smart.
Truly to express what is truly felt—that is, to express oneself with those little touches which attest personal emotion—is really what makes a great writer; common ones invariably use phrases which are no better than second-hand clothes.
Strictly speaking, we have only layers of novels and comedies ; few are grown from the seed.
Every man has in him a fund of true observations, but to learn how to express them appropriately—that is the art. It is most difficult, at least much more difficult than is often believed; and surely all bad authors have this in common, that of all that is in them they say only what everyone else says, and what, to be said at all, did not even need to be in them.
To be able to write good verse it seems to be indispensable that a man should have some ear for its metre and numbers before perceiving the words that are to fill it. The form of thought must appear to the poet before thought itself materializes.
A good remark on a very familiar topic is what really constitutes true wit. A remark on something not so familiar, even if a very good one, is not nearly
