There Is No Idleness, By Which We

Foppery Is Never Cured; It Is The Bad Stamina Of The Mind, Which, Like Those Of The Body, Are Never Rectified; Once A Coxcomb Always A Coxcomb.

Every Man, However Hopeless His Pretensions May Appear, Has Some Project By Which He Hopes To Rise To Reputation; Some Art By Which He Imagines That The Attention Of The World Will Be Attracted; Some Quality, Good Or Bad, Which Discriminates Him From The Common Herd Of Mortals, And By Which Others May Be Persuaded To Love, Or Compelled To Fear Him.

"uisce Beatha" Is A Compounded Distilled Spirit Being Drawn On Aromatics, And The Irish Sort Is Particularly Distinguished For Its Pleasant And Mild Flavour.

A Fellow Will Hack Half A Year At A Block Of Marble To Make Something In Stone That Hardly Resembles A Man. The Value Of Statuary Is Owing To Its Difficulty. You Would Not Value The Finest Head Cut Upon A Carrot.

They Who Most Loudly Clamour For Liberty Do Not Most Liberally Grant It.