The Word Snob Belongs To The Sour-grape

How It Infuriates A Bigot, When He Is Forced To Drag Out His Dark Convictions!

Most People Sell Their Souls, And Live With A Good Conscience On The Proceeds.

We Should Nourish Our Souls On The Dew Of Poesy, And Manure Them As Well.

What Things There Are To Write, If One Could Only Write Them! My Mind Is Full Of Gleaming Thought; Gay Moods And Mysterious, Moth-like Meditations Hover In My Imagination, Fanning Their Painted Wings. But Always The Rarest, Those Streaked With Azure And The Deepest Crimson, Flutter Away Beyond My Reach.

A Best-seller Is The Gilded Tomb Of A Mediocre Talent