"A peculiar anthologic maze, an amusing literary chaos, a farrago of quotations, a mere olla podrida of quaintness, a pot pourri of pleasant delites, a florilegium of elegant extracts, a tangled fardel of old-world flowers of thought, a faggot of odd fancies, quips, facetiae, loosely tied" (Holbrook Jackson, Anatomy of Bibliomania) by a "laudator temporis acti," a "praiser of time past" (Horace, Ars Poetica 173).
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Thursday, December 31, 2015
Melancholy
Walter Savage Landor, letter to Rose Paynter (June 5, 1840):
Take my word for it, if we fondle and pamper our griefs, they grow up to an unwieldy size and become unmanageable. Melancholy, which at first was only the ornament of a verse, becomes at last a habit and a necessity.