How well Horatius kept the bridge In the brave days of old.
Oh, wherefore come ye forth in triumph from the north, With your hands, and your feet, and your raiment all red? And wherefore doth your rout send forth a joyous shout? And whence be the grapes of the wine-press which ye tread?
The real object of the drama is the exhibition of the human character.
Will without power is like children playing at soldiers.
The business of the dramatist is to keep himself out of sight, and to let nothing appear but his characters. As soon as he attracts notice to his personal feelings, the illusion is broken.
He . . . felt towards those whom he had deserted that peculiar malignity which has, in all ages, been characteristic of apostates.