Let Joy Be Unconfined.

Nothing So Difficult As A Beginning In Poesy, Unless Perhaps The End.

One Of The Pleasures Of Reading Old Letters Is The Knowledge That They Need No Answer.

The Keenest Pangs The Wretched Find Are Rapture To The Dreary Void, The Leafless Desert Of The Mind, The Waste Of Feelings Unemployed.

Nothing So Fretful, So Despicable As A Scribbler, See What I Am, And What A Parcel Of Scoundrels I Have Brought About My Ears, And What Language I Have Been Obliged To Treat Them With To Deal With Them In Their Own Way; - All This Comes Of Authorship.

Tyranny Is For The Worst Of Treasons.