"Homer is no favorite of mine," answered Pococurante, coolly, "I was made to believe once that I took a pleasure in reading him; but his continual repetitions of battles have all such a resemblance with each other; his gods that are forever in haste and bustle, without ever doing anything; his Helen, who is the cause of the war, and yet hardly acts in the whole performance; his Troy, that holds out so long, without being taken: in short, all these things together make the poem very insipid to me. I have asked some learned men, whether they are not in reality as much tired as myself with reading this poet: those who spoke ingenuously, assured me that he had made them fall asleep, and yet that they could not well avoid giving him a place in their libraries; but that it was merely as they would do an antique, or those rusty medals which are kept only for curiosity, and are of no manner of use in commerce."
Nekem nem sok örömet okoz, mondá hidegen Pococuranté; valamikor elhitették velem, hogy nagy gyönyörüség Homerost olvasni; de az egymáshoz hasonló harcok szakadatlan sorozata, az istenek, kik mindenbe beleavatkoznak, de semmi határozottat nem tesznek, Helena, ki a háboru okozója, de alig játszik szerepet a költeményben, Trója, melyet folyton ostromolnak, de sohasem vesznek be - mindez halálosan untat; nehányszor megkérdeztem a tudósokat, vajjon ők is ugy unatkoznak-e, mint én, ezek olvasásakor; az őszintébbek mind bevallották, hogy a könyv az unalom folytán ki szokott esni a kezökből, de mindég be kell szerezni könyvtáruk számára, mint az ókornak egyik emlékét, mint a rozsdás érmeket, melyeknek nem lehet hasznukat venni.