Genius Creates, And Taste Preserves.

A Field Of Glory Is A Field For All.

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.

The Young Disease, That Must Subdue At Length, Grows With His Growth, And Strengthens With His Strength.

How Glowing Guilt Exalts The Keen Delight!

Chaos Of Thought And Passion, All Confus'd.