By Flatterers Besieged And So Obliging That

Genuine Religion Is Not So Much A Matter Of Feeling As A Matter Of Principle.

Every Professional Was Once An Amateur.

Of Little Use, The Man You May Suppose, Who Says In Verse What Others Say In Prose; Yet Let Me Show A Poet's Of Some Weight, And (though No Soldier) Useful To The State, What Will A Child Learn Sooner Than A Song? What Better Teach A Foreigner The Tongue? What's Long Or Short, Each Accent Where To Place And Speak In Public With Some Sort Of Grace?

Fickle Fortune Reigns, And, Undiscerning, Scatters Crowns And Chains.

Our Passions Are Like Convulsion Fits, Which, Though They Make Us Stronger For A Time, Leave Us The Weaker Ever After.