Melancholy, Indeed, Should Be Diverted By Every

Every Reader Should Remember The Diffidence Of Socrates, And Repair By His Candour The Injuries Of Time: He Should Impute The Seeming Defects Of His Author To Some Chasm Of Intelligence, And Suppose That The Sense Which Is Now Weak Was Once Forcible

Men Who Have Flattered Themselves Into This Opinion Of Their Own Abilities, Look Down On All Who Waste Their Lives Over Books, As A Race Of Inferior Beings Condemned By Nature To Perpetual Pupilage, And Fruitlessly Endeavouring To Remedy Their Barrenness By Incessant Cultivation, Or Succour Their Feebleness By Subsidiary Strength. They Presume That None Would Be More Industrious Than They, If They Were Not More Sensible Of Deficiences; And Readily Conclude, That He Who Places No Confidence In His Own Powers Owes His Modesty Only To His Weakness.

That What Cannot Be Repaired Is Not To Be Regretted.

The Whole World Is Put In Motion By The Wish For Riches And The Dread Of Poverty.

And Panting Time Toil'd After Him In Vain.