Love Either Finds Equality Or Makes It.

Second Thoughts, They Say, Are Best.

Every Language Is So Full Of Its Own Proprieties That What Is Beautiful In One Is Often Barbarous, Nay, Sometimes Nonsense, In Another.

So Over Violent, Or Over Civil That Every Man With Him Was God Or Devil.

None, None Descends Into Himself, To Find The Secret Imperfections Of His Mind: But Every One Is Eagle-ey'd To See Another's Faults, And His Deformity.

I Trade Both With The Living And The Dead, For The Enrichment Of Our Native Language.