Why, then the world's mine oyster, which I with sword will open.—Shakespeare.
Worship.—Worship as though the Deity were present. If my mind is not engaged in my worship, it is as though I worshiped not.—Confucius.
Writing.—Writing, after all, is a cold and coarse interpreter of thought. How much of the imagination, how much of the intellect, evaporates and is lost while we seek to embody it in words! Man made language and God the genius.—Bulwer-Lytton.
We must write as Homer wrote, not what he wrote.—Théophile Vian.
Wrong.—There is no sort of wrong deed of which a man can bear the punishment alone; you can't isolate yourself and say that the evil that is in you shall not spread. Men's lives are as thoroughly blended with each other as the air they breathe: evil spreads as necessarily as disease.—George Eliot.
My soul is sick with every day's report of wrong and outrage with which earth is filled.—Cowper.
Y.
Youth.—The canker galls the infants of the spring, too oft before their buttons be disclosed; and in the morn and liquid dew of youth contagious blastments are most imminent.—Shakespeare.
Reckless youth makes rueful age.—Moore.
In general, a man in his younger years does not easily cast off a certain complacent self-conceit, which principally shows itself in despising what he has himself been a little time before.—Goethe.