The nose of a mob is its imagination. By this, at any time, it can be >>
I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity. >>
Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excite >>
I hate journalists. There is nothing in them but tittering jeering emp >>
If I'd written all the truth I knew for the past ten years, about 600 >>
Every journalist who is not too stupid or too full of himself to notic >>
We now demand the light artillery of the intellect; we need the curt, the condensed, the pointed, the readily diffused -- in place of the verbose, the detailed, the voluminous, the inaccessible. On the other hand, the lightness of the artillery should not degenerate into pop-gunnery -- by which term we may designate the character of the greater portion of the newspaper press -- their sole legitimate object being the discussion of ephemeral matters in an ephemeral manner.