The Charm Of London Is That You

The World Is Seldom What It Seems; To Man, Who Dimly Sees, Realities Appear As Dreams, And Dreams Realities.

London! The Needy Villain's General Home, The Common Sewer Of Paris And Of Rome! With Eager Thirst, By Folly Or By Fate, Sucks In The Dregs Of Each Corrupted State.

It Is Certain That Success Naturally Confirms In Us A Favourable Opinion Of Our Own Abilities. Scarce Any Man Is Willing To Allot To Accident, Friendship, And A Thousand Causes, Which Concur In Every Event Without Human Contrivance Or Interposition, The Part Which They May Justly Claim In His Advancement. We Rate Ourselves By Our Fortune Rather Than Our Virtues, And Exorbitant Claims Are Quickly Produced By Imaginary Merit.

Every Other Enjoyment Malice May Destroy; Every Other Panegyric Envy May Withhold; But No Human Power Can Deprive The Boaster Of His Own Encomiums.

Ah! Sir, A Boy's Being Flogged Is Not So Severe As A Man's Having The Hiss Of The World Against Him.