Art Hath An Enemy Called Ignorance.

Glory, The Casual Gift Of Thoughtless Crowds! Glory, The Bribe Of Avaricious Virtue!

The Art Of The Writer, Like That Of The Player, Is Attained By Slow Degrees. The Power Of Distinguishing And Discriminating Comick Characters, Or Of Filling Tragedy With Poetical Images, Must Be The Gift Of Nature, Which No Instruction Nor Labour Can Supply; But The Art Of Dramatick Disposition, The Contexture Of The Scenes, The Involution Of The Plot, The Expedients Of Suspension, And The Strategems Of Surprise, Are To Be Learned By Practice.

There Is Nothing, Sir, Too Little For So Little A Creature As Man. It Is By Studying Little Things That We Attain The Great Art Of Having As Little Misery And As Much Happiness As Possible.

In Solitude We Have Our Dreams To Ourselves, And In Company We Agree To Dream In Concert.

It Matters Not How A Man Dies, But How He Lives. The Act Of Dying Is Not Of Importance, It Lasts So Short A Time.