Every Absurdity Has A Champion To Defend

The Pregnant Quarry Teem'd With Human Form.

What Real Good Does An Addition To A Fortune Already Sufficient Procure? Not Any. Could The Great Man, By Having His Fortune Increased, Increase Also His Appetites, Then Precedence Might Be Attended With Real Amusement.

The Soul May Be Compared To A Field Of Battle, Where The Armies Are Ready Every Moment To Encounter. Not A Single Vice But Has A More Powerful Opponent, And Not One Virtue But May Be Overborne By A Combination Of Vices.

I Fancy The Character Of A Poet Is In Every Country The Same,--fond Of Enjoying The Present, Careless Of The Future; His Conversation That Of A Man Of Sense, His Actions Those Of A Fool.

Surely The Best Way To Meet The Enemy Is Head On In The Field And Not Wait Till They Plunder Our Very Homes.