There rise authors now and then, who seem proof against the mutability of language, because they have rooted themselves in the unchanging principles of human nature.
Washington IrvingRead
The literary world is made up of little confederacies, each looking upon its own members as the lights of the universe; and considering all others as mere transient meteors, doomed to soon fall and be forgotten, while its own luminaries are to shine steadily into immortality.
Interpretation
Literary communities value their own members highly while dismissing others as fleeting.
Washington Irving's quote reflects the insular nature of literary groups, where writers and thinkers tend to elevate their own to a status of significance and importance, viewing external voices as temporary and unworthy of lasting recognition. This perspective fosters an appreciation for one's own community but can also lead to a narrow vision of literary merit.
In practice
In a literary lecture, highlighting how writers view their peers.
There rise authors now and then, who seem proof against the mutability of language, because they have rooted themselves in the unchanging principles of human nature.
There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love.
Sweet is the memory of distant friends! Like the mellow rays of the departing sun, it falls tenderly, yet sadly, on the heart.
Love is never lost. If not reciprocated, it will flow back and soften and purify the heart.
The easiest thing to do, whenever you fail, is to put yourself down by blaming your lack of ability for your misfortunes.
If I can, by a lucky chance, in these uneasy days, rub out one wrinkle from the brow of care, or beguile the heavy heart of one moment of sadness; if I can, how and then, prompt a happier view of human nature, and make my reader more in good humor with his fellow-beings and himself, surely, I shall not have written in vain.
If you read quickly to get through a poem to what it means, you have missed the body of the poem.
It is clear that the books owned the shop rather than the other way about. Everywhere they had run wild and taken possession of their habitat, breeding and multiplying, and clearly lacking any strong hand to keep them down.
But I too hate long books: the better, the worse. If they're bad they merely make me pant with the effort of holding them up for a few minutes. But if they're good, I turn into a social moron for days, refusing to go out of my room, scowling and growling at interruptions, ignoring weddings and funerals, and making enemies out of friends. I still bear the scars of Middlemarch.
I am one of the writers who wish to create serious works of literature which dissociate themselves from those novels which are mere reflections of the vast consumer cultures of Tokyo and the subcultures of the world at large.
I have good reason to be content, for thank God I can read and perhaps understand Shakespeare to his depths.
There are now 30-year-old Mexican writers who do great novels in which Mexico isn't even mentioned.
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