Our blood runs through it, our history in the quick.

The Philistine detests it, because he has no view, out or in.

The dry confess they are cut off from the living tree, peeled and sapless, when they condemn it.

The vulgar demand to have their pleasures in their own likeness--and let them swamp their troughs! they shall not degrade the fame of noble fiction.

We are the choice public, which will have good writing for light reading.