There are, if I dare say it, inferior and subordinate spirits who seem to be made only to collect, register and store all the productions of other geniuses: they are plagiarists, translators and compilers; they do not think at all, they say what authors have thought; and since the ability to distinguish and choose between thoughts requires invention, they do so badly, with little justice, in a way that shows they rather bring many things together than excellent ones; they have nothing original that belongs to them; they only know what they have learned and have only learned what no one wants to know, an arid science, devoid of charm and utility, which is never mentioned in conversation, which is out of use, like a money that has no currency at all: one is at once amazed at what they have read and annoyed or bored by what they say and the works they write. People in power and people who are vulgar confound them with savants, and people who are wise recognize them as pedants.