3 (I)
Writing a book is a trade, as making a clock is a trade: having wit alone is not enough to be an author. A certain magistrate, who through his merits was on track for the highest office and who was a clever, capable man in business matters, had a moral treatise printed—a piece so laughably bad that it’s noteworthy for precisely that reason.
4 (I)
It is harder to make a name for oneself by producing a flawless work than to make a mediocre work gain acclaim through a reputation one has already acquired.
5 (I)
A satirical work—or one containing specific facts—that is passed around in loose sheets under the cloak, on condition that it be returned the same way, will be deemed marvelous even if mediocre. Actual printing is its downfall.
6 (I)
If you remove from many moral treatises their “Note to the Reader,” their dedicatory epistle, their preface, their table of contents, and the endorsements, barely enough pages remain to be worthy of the name “book.”
7 (I)
Some things cannot be tolerated in mediocre form: poetry, music, painting, and public speaking.
What torture it is to hear a pompously declaimed but lifeless speech, or to listen to mediocre verses recited with all the bombast of an untalented poet!
8 (V)
Certain poets who write for the stage indulge in long sequences of grandiose lines that seem lofty, full of great sentiments. The audience listens eagerly, eyes raised, mouths agape, believing they enjoy it; the less they understand, the more they admire. They have no time to breathe, scarcely enough time to exclaim or applaud. I once believed, in my early youth, that such passages were perfectly clear to the actors, the pit, and the gallery, that the authors understood themselves, and that any difficulty in comprehension was my own fault. I have since been disabused.
9 (I)
Up to now, we have rarely seen a true masterpiece of genius produced jointly by multiple people: Homer composed the Iliad, Virgil the Aeneid, Livy his Decades, and the Roman Orator his orations.
10 (I)
In art, there is a point of perfection, just as there is a point of fullness or maturity in nature. Whoever senses and loves that point has perfect taste; whoever fails to sense it, or who loves below or beyond it, has defective taste. Thus, there is such a thing as good and bad taste, and it is reasonable to argue about matters of taste.
11 (I)
Humans display far more vivacity than true taste; or to put it another way, few people combine keen intelligence with consistently sound critical judgment.
12 (I)
The lives of heroes have enriched history, and history has embellished their deeds. Which side, then, is more indebted—the historians who were supplied such a noble subject, or the great men indebted to those who recorded their exploits?