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Writers, Authors and Journalists Insults
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A vain silly, transparent coxcomb without either solid talents or a solid nature.
J. G. Lockhart (1794-1854), Scottish writer, on Samuel Pepys (1633-1703), diarist
A village explainer. Excellent if you were a village, but if you were not, not.
Gertrude Stein (1874-1946) on Ezra Pound (1885-1972)
About as credulous as an old goose as one could hope to find out of Gotham.
B. G. Johns in John Aubrey of Wilts on John Aubrey (1626-97), English biographer and antiquary
All raw, uncooked, protesting.
Virginia Woolf (1882-1941) on Aldous Huxley (1894-1963)
All the faults of Jane Eyre are magnified thousandfold and the only consolation which we have in reflecting upon it, is that it will never be generally read.
James Lorimer, British critic, on Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights
An animated adenoid.
Norman Douglas (1868-1952), English novelist, on Ford Madox Ford (1873-1939)
An idiot child screaming in a hospital.
H. G. Wells (1866-1946) on George Bernard Shaw (1856-1950)
An unattractive man with an apple-green complexion.
Steven Runciman, British historian, on Andre Gide (1869-1951), French writer
An unmanly sort of man whose love-life seems to have been largely confined to crying in laps and playing mouse.
W. H. Auden (1907-73) on Edgar Allan Poe (1809-49)
Anyone who has seen Saint-Marc Giradin walking the street has been immediately struck by the notion of a big goose, deeply in love with itself, but scuttling over the road in panic to escape from a coach.
Charles Baudelaire (1821-67) on Saint-Marc Giradin, anti-romantic critic and publicist
Ben Jonson! Not another word about him. It makes my blood boil! I haven't the patience to hear the fellow's name. A pigmy! An upstart! A presumptuous valet who dared to be thought more of than Shakespeare in his day!
Walter Savage Landor (1775-1864), poet and essayist, on Ben Jonson (1576-1637), poet and playwright
Bennett - sort of a pig in clover.
D. H. Lawrence (1885-1930) on Arnold Bennett (1867-1931), British novelist
Books seem to me to be pestilent things, and infect all that trade in them... with something very perverse and brutal. Printers, binders, sellers and others that make a trade and gain out of them, have universally so odd a turn and corruption of mind that they have a way of dealing peculiar to themselves and not conform to the good of society and that general fairness which cements mankind.
John Locke (1632-1704), British philosopher
Byron can only bore the spleen.
Charles Lamb (1775-1834) on Lord Byron
Byron dealt chiefly in felt and furbelow, wavy Damascus daggers, and pocket pistols studded with paste.
Walter Savage Landor (1775-1864), poet and essayist, on Lord Byron (1788-1824)
Byron! - he would be all forgotten today if he had lived to be a florid old gentleman with iron-grey whiskers, writing very long, very able letters to The Times about the repeal of corn laws.
Max Beerbohm (1872-1956) on Lord Byron (1788-1824)
Carlyle is a poet to whom nature has denied the faculty of verse.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-92) on Thomas Carlyle (1795-1881)
Chaucer, notwithstanding the praises bestowed upon him, I think obscene and contemptible; he owes his celebrity merely to his antiquity.
Lord Byron (1788-1824) on Geoffrey Chaucer (c. 1345-1400)
Cihber! write all thy Verses upon Glasses, The only way to save them from our Arses.
Alexander Pope (1688-1744) on Colley Gibber (1671-1757)
Coleridge was a muddle-headed metaphysician who by some strange streak of fortune turned out a few poems amongst the dreary flood of inanity that was his wont.
William Morris (1834-96) on Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834)

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