He That Would Travel For The Entertainment

When I Was As You Are Now, Towering In The Confidence Of Twenty-one, Little Did I Suspect That I Should Be At Forty-nine, What I Now Am.

To A Poet Nothing Can Be Useless.

The Number Of Such As Live Without The Ardour Of Inquiry Is Very Small, Though Many Content Themselves With Cheap Amusements, And Waste Their Lives In Researches Of No Importance.

Nothing Flatters A Man As Much As The Happiness Of His Wife; He Is Always Proud Of Himself As The Source Of It.

Some Have Little Power To Do Good, And Have Likewise Little Strength To Resist Evil.