How much of our literature, our political life, our friendships and love affairs, depend on being able to talk peacefully in a bar!

This book-amber-clear, cool and with a good head-deserves a thoughtful swig even from people who never drink.

Poetry is to prose as dancing is to walking

Literature, the most seductive, the most deceiving, the most dangerous of professions.

When the waves are round me breaking,As I pace the deck alone,And my eye in vain is seekingSome green leaf to rest upon;What would not I give to wanderWhere my old companions dwell?Absence makes the heart grow fonder,Isle of Beauty, fare thee well! - Paradise Lost.

Accuse not nature, she hath done her part;Do thou but thine, and be not diffidentOf wisdom, she deserts thee not, if thouDismiss not her, when most thou needest her nigh,By attributing overmuch to thingsLess excellent, as thou thyself perceivest. - Paradise Lost.