Chess, like mathematics and music, is a nursery for child prodigies.
Faint is the bliss, that never past thro' pain.
Tea! thou soft, sober, sage and venerable liquid;- thou female tongue-running, smile-smoothing, heart-opening, wink-tippling cordial, to whose glorious insipidity I owe the happiest moment of my life, let me fall prostrate.
Prithee don't screw your wit beyond the compass of good manners.
Old houses mended, Cost little less than new before they're ended.
The wretch that fears to drown, will break through flames; Or, in his dread of flames, will plunge in waves. When eagles are in view, the screaming doves Will cower beneath the feet of man for safety.
The aspiring youth that fired the Ephesian domeOutlives in fame the pious fool that rais'd it.
Don't give up your dreams.
Finance, like time, devours its own children.
With non-fiction writing I feel like I'm confined and driven by what actually happened. That makes the "plot". So it's a process of getting all of my notes typed up, then scanning through the notes, trying to extract or find certain vignettes that seem like they might write well - that might have a potential for good energy, shape, etc. And then at some point I start stringing these together, keeping an eye on the word count.
But O, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes.