So much may be presumed of everyone, and nothing more is wanted.
In truth nothing more is wanted,--except those inner lights as to which, so many men live and die without having learned whether they possess them or not.

Practice, industry, study of literature, cultivation of taste, and the rest, will of course lend their aid, will probably be necessary before high excellence is attained.

But the instances are not to seek,--are at the fingers of us all,--in which the first uninstructed effort has succeeded.

A boy, almost, or perhaps an old woman, has sat down and the book has come, and the world has read it, and the booksellers have been civil and have written their cheques.

When all trades, all professions, all seats at offices, all employments at which a crust can be earned, are so crowded that a young man knows not where to look for the means of livelihood, is there not an attraction in this which to the self-confident must be almost invincible?
The booksellers are courteous and write their cheques, but that is not half the whole?
_Monstrari digito!_ That is obtained.