Age, That Lessens The Enjoyment Of Life,

How Wide The Limits Stand Between A Splendid And A Happy Land.

Blest Be That Spot, Where Cheerful Guests Retire To Pause From Toil, And Trim Their Evening Fire; Blest That Abode, Where Want And Pain Repair, And Every Stranger Finds A Ready Chair Blest Be Those Feasts With Simple Plenty Crown'd, Where All The Ruddy Family Around Laugh At The Jest Or Pranks, That Never Fail, Or Sigh With Pity At Some Mournful Tale, Or Press The Bashful Stranger To His Food, And Learn The Luxury Of Doing Good.

It Has Been Well Observed That Few Are Better Qualified To Give Others Advice Than Those Who Have Taken The Least Of It Themselves.

There Are Some Faults So Nearly Allied To Excellence That We Can Scarce Weed Out The Vice Without Eradicating The Virtue.

What Cities, As Great As This, Have... Promised Themselves Immortality! Posterity Can Hardly Trace The Situation Of Some. The Sorrowful Traveller Wanders Over The Awful Ruins Of Others... Here Stood Their Citadel, But Now Grown Over With Weeds; There Their Senate-house, But Now The Haunt Of Every Noxious Reptile; Temples And Theatres Stood Here, Now Only An Undistinguished Heap Of Ruins.