Every Man Has Just As Much Vanity

Why Did I Write? What Sin To Me Unknown Dipped Me In Ink, My Parents , Or My Own?

Wise Wretch! With Pleasures Too Refined To Please, With Too Much Spirit To Be E'er At Ease, With Too Much Quickness Ever To Be Taught, With Too Much Thinking To Have Common Thought: You Purchase Pain With All That Joy Can Give, And Die Of Nothing But A Rage To Live.

Order Is Heaven's First Law; And This Confessed, Some Are, And Must Be, Greater Than The Rest, More Rich, More Wise; But Who Infers From Hence That Such Are Happier, Shocks All Common Sense. Condition, Circumstance, Is Not The Thing; Bliss Is The Same In Subject Or In King.

A Little Learning Is A Dangerous Thing; Drink Of It Deeply, Or Taste It Not, For Shallow Thoughts Intoxicate The Brain, And Drinking Deeply Sobers Us Again.

The Season When To Come, And When To Go, To Sing, Or Cease To Sing, We Never Know.