“. . . . you cannot employ your time worse than in making verses. An Author, whether good or bad, or between both, is an Animal whom everybody is privileged to attack; For though all are not able to write books, all conceive themselves able to judge them. . . . In short to enter the lists of literature is wilfully to expose yourself to the arrows of neglect, ridicule, envy and disappointment. . . . However, if you cannot help being occasionally seized with a poetical paroxysm, take at least the precaution of communicating your verses to none but those, whose partiality for you secures their approbation.”
                – Matthew Lewis, from The Monk (Volume II Chapter II)

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