Every place swarms with commentaries; of authors there is great scarcity.

There is more ado to interpret interpretations than to interpret things, and more books upon books than upon any other subject; we do nothing but comment upon one another.

Scarcely any literature is so entirely unprofitable as the so-called criticism that overlays a pity text with a windy sermon.

Criticism is the windows and chandeliers of art: it illuminates the enveloping darkness in which art might otherwise rest only vaguely discernible, and perhaps altogether unseen.

Insects sting, not from malice, but because they want to live. It is the same with critics-they desire our blood, not our pain.

Let such teach others who themselves excel, And censure freely who have written well.

Some judge of authors' names, not works, and then Nor praise nor blame the writings, but the men.

Works of art are of an infinite loneliness and with nothing so little to be reached as with criticism.

To substitute judgments of fact for judgments of value, is a sign of pedantic and borrowed criticism.

With an artist no sane man quarrels, any more than with the colour of a child's eyes.