What Greater Prestige Can A Man Like

It Is A Mass Language Only In The Same Sense That Its Baseball Slang Is Born Of Baseball Players. That Is, It Is A Language Which Is Being Molded By Writers To Do Delicate Things And Yet Be Within The Grasp Of Superficially Educated People. It Is Not A Natural Growth, Much As Its Proletarian Writers Would Like To Think So. But Compared With It At Its Best, English Has Reached The Alexandrian Stage Of Formalism And Decay.

Great Critics, Of Whom There Are Piteously Few, Build A Home For The Truth.

Good Critical Writing Is Measured By The Perception And Evaluation Of The Subject; Bad Critical Writing By The Necessity Of Maintaining The Professional Standing Of The Critic.

When I Split An Infinitive, God Damn It, I Split It So It Stays Split.

Tall, Aren't You?" She Said. "i Didn't Mean To Be." Her Eyes Rounded. She Was Puzzled. She Was Thinking. I Could See, Even On That Short Acquaintance, That Thinking Was Always Going To Be A Bother To Her.