Writing (n.) is the best improver of eloquence, yet many orators wrote nothing, fearing a written specimen would shrink a fame already made.
Writing (n.) is the best modeller and teacher of oratory: what is meditated beats what is improvised, and steady writing beats meditation itself.
Writing (n.) was the refuge of solitude: since the state's overthrow Cicero wrote more in a short time than in many years while it stood.
Writing (n.) carries a speech the way oars carry a boat: when the written matter runs out, the speech keeps its motion and glides on in the same strain.
Writing (n.) can cure what it describes: composing a book on old age wiped away all of age's disagreeables and even made it luxurious and delightful.
Writing (n.) done badly is an unpardonable abuse of letters and leisure: its authors read their books to one another, and no one else takes them up but those who want the same licence for carelessness.