It Is Usual For A Man Who

Tis Not My Talent To Conceal My Thoughts, Or Carry Smiles And Sunshine In My Face, When Discontent Sits Heavy At My Heart.

I Think I May Define Taste To Be That Faculty Of The Soul Which Discerns The Beauties Of An Author With Pleasure, And The Imperfections With Dislike.

Great Pompey's Shade Complains That We Are Slow, And Scipio's Ghost Walks Unavenged Amongst Us!

Love Is A Second Life.

There Is Not Any Present Moment That Is Unconnected With Some Future One. The Life Of Every Man Is A Continued Chain Of Incidents, Each Link Of Which Hangs Upon The Former. The Transition From Cause To Effect, From Event To Event, Is Often Carried On By Secret Steps, Which Our Foresight Cannot Divine, And Our Sagacity Is Unable To Trace. Evil May At Some Future Period Bring Forth Good; And Good May Bring Forth Evil, Both Equally Unexpected.