He That Climbs The Tall Tree Has

The Lover's Pleasure, Like That Of The Hunter, Is In The Chase, And The Brightest Beauty Loses Half Its Merit, As The Flower Its Perfume, When The Willing Hand Can Reach It Too Easily. There Must Be Doubt; There Must Be Difficulty And Danger.

If A Faultless Poem Could Be Produced, I Am Satisfied It Would Tire The Critics Themselves; And Annoy The Whole Reading World With The Spleen.

The Man Who Is Deserving The Name Is The One Whose Thoughts And Exertions Are For Others Rather Than For Himself.

Those Who Are Too Idle To Read, Save For The Purpose Of Amusement, May In These Works Acquire Some Acquaintance With History, Which, However Inaccurate, Is Better Than None.

For Deadly Fear Can Time Outgo, And Blanch At Once The Hair.