Odd Sheets of Paper

“Who was that ill-mannered creature,” said Candide, “who spoke so harshly of the play at which I wept so freely, and of the actors who gave me such pleasure?”

“He’s an evil-minded fellow,” said the abbé, “who earns his living by damning every play and every book. He hates a successful writer, just as eunuchs hate successful lovers. He is one of those snakes of literature who feed on dirt and venom. He’s a pamphleteer.”

“What do you mean by a pamphleteer?” asked Candide.

“A dealer in odd sheets of paper,” replied the abbé, “a journalist.”