A Coward Is The Kindest Animal; 'tis

Damn'd Neuters, In Their Middle Way Of Steering, Are Neither Fish, Nor Flesh, Nor Good Red Herring.

None But The Brave Deserve The Fair.

He Made All Countries Where He Came His Own.

Imagination In A Poet Is A Faculty So Wild And Lawless That, Like A High Ranging Spaniel, It Must Have Clogs Tied To It, Lest It Outrun The Judgment. The Great Easiness Of Blank Verse Renders The Poet Too Luxuriant. He Is Tempted To Say Many Things Which Might Better Be Omitted, Or, At Least Shut Up In Fewer Words.

Moderate Sorrow Fits Vulgar Love, And For A Vulgar Man: But I Have Lov'd With Such Transcendent Passion, I Soar'd, At First, Quite Out Of Reason's View, And Now Am Lost Above It.