The Works of William Makepeace Thackeray, 19±Ç

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C. Scribner's sons, 1904

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325 ÆäÀÌÁö - Yellowplush," says he, seizing my hand, " you are right. Quit not your present occupation ; black boots, clean knives, wear plush all your life, but don't turn literary man. Look at me. I am the first novelist in Europe. I have ranged with eagle wing over the wide regions of literature, and perched on every eminence in its turn. I have gazed with eagle eyes on the sun of philosophy, and fathomed the mysterious depths of the human mind. All languages are familiar to me, all thoughts are known to me,...
354 ÆäÀÌÁö - You wrote it for money, — money from the maniger, money from the bookseller, — for the same reason that I write this. Sir Shakspeare wrote for the very same reasons, and I never heard that he bragged about serving the drama. Away with this canting about great motifs! Let us not be too prowd, my dear Barnet, and fansy ourselves marters of the truth, marters or apostels. We are but tradesmen, working for bread, and not for righteousness

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