Hope, Like The Gleaming Taper

The Europeans Are Themselves Blind Who Describe Fortune Without Sight. No First-rate Beauty Ever Had Finer Eyes, Or Saw More Clearly. They Who Have No Other Trade But Seeking Their Fortune Need Never Hope To Find Her; Coquette-like, She Flies From Her Close Pursuers, And At Last Fixes On The Plodding Mechanic Who Stays At Home And Minds His Business.

Friendship Is A Disinterested Commerce Between Equals; Love, An Abject Intercourse Between Tyrants And Slaves.

Little Things Are Great To Little Men.

To The Last Moment Of His Breath, On Hope The Wretch Relies; And Even The Pang Preceding Death Bids Expectation Rise.

Why Was This Heart Of Mine Formed With So Much Sensibility! Or Why Not My Fortune Adapted To Its Impulses! Tenderness Without A Capacity Of Relieving Only Makes The Man Who Feels It More Wretched Than The Object Which Sues For Assistance.