Thomas Love Peacock

The critic does his utmost to blight genius in its infancy; that which rises in spite of him he will not see; and then he complains of the decline of literature.

Not drunk is he who from the floor - Can rise alone and still drink more; But drunk is They, who prostrate lies, Without the power to drink or rise.

Man yields to death; and man's sublimest works_x000D_ _x000D_ Must yield at length to Time.