My Heart Leaps At The Trumpet's Voice.

Simonides, A Poet Famous In His Generation, Is, I Think, Author Of The Oldest Satire That Is Now Extant, And, As Some Say, Of The First That Was Ever Written.

Complaisance, Though In Itself It Be Scarce Reckoned In The Number Of Moral Virtues, Is That Which Gives A Lustre To Every Talent A Man Can Be Possessed Of. It Was Plato's Advice To An Unpolished Writer That He Should Sacrifice To The Graces. In The Same Manner I Would Advise Every Man Of Learning, Who Would Not Appear In The World A Mere Scholar Or Philosopher, To Make Himself Master Of The Social Virtue Which I Have Here Mentioned.

The Hours Of A Wise Man Are Lengthened By His Ideas, As Those Of A Fool Are By His Passions. The Time Of The One Is Long, Because He Does Not Know What To Do With It; So Is That Of The Other, Because He Distinguishes Every Moment Of It With Useful Or Amusing Thoughts--or, In Other Words, Because The One Is Always Wishing It Away, And The Other Always Enjoying It.

He Only Is A Great Man Who Can Neglect The Applause Of The Multitude And Enjoy Himself Independent Of Its Favor.

There Is Not A More Unhappy Being Than A Superannuated Idol.