Chaos Of Thought And Passion, All Confus'd.

We Ought, In Humanity, No More To Despise A Man For The Misfortunes Of The Mind Than For Those Of The Body, When They Are Such As He Cannot Help; Were This Thoroughly Considered We Should No More Laugh At A Man For Having His Brains Cracked Than For Having His Head Broke.

And More Than Echoes Talk Along The Walls.

The Difference Is Too Nice - Where Ends The Virtue Or Begins The Vice.

I Believe No One Qualification Is So Likely To Make A Good Writer, As The Power Of Rejecting His Own Thoughts.

In The Nice Bee, What Sense So Subtly True From Pois'nous Herbs Extracts The Healing Dew?