How Sweet And Sacred Idleness Is!

The Vain Poet Is Of The Opinion That Nothing Of His Can Be Too Much: He Sends To You Basketful After Basketful Of Juiceless Fruit, Covered With Scentless Flowers.

Heat And Animosity, Contest And Conflict, May Sharpen The Wits, Although They Rarely Do; They Never Strengthen The Understanding, Clear The Perspicacity, Guide The Judgment, Or Improve The Heart.

The Tomb Is The Pedestal Of Greatness. I Make A Distinction Between God's Great And The King's Great.

The Deafest Man Can Hear Praise, And Is Slow To Think Any An Excess.

The Habit Of Pleasing By Flattery Makes A Language Soft; The Fear Of Offending By Truth Makes It Circuitous And Conventional.