Oh, Poverty Parts Good Company.

If A Faultless Poem Could Be Produced, I Am Satisfied It Would Tire The Critics Themselves; And Annoy The Whole Reading World With The Spleen.

All Men Who Have Turned Out Worth Anything Have Had The Chief Hand In Their Own Education.

Perhaps The Perusal Of Such Works May, Without Injustice, Be Compared With The Use Of Opiates, Baneful, When Habitually And Constantly Resorted To, But Of Most Blessed Power In Those Moments Of Pain And Of Langour, When The Whole Head Is Sore, And The Whole Heart Sick. If Those Who Rail Indiscriminately At This Species Of Composition, Were To Consider The Quantity Of Actual Pleasure It Produces, And The Much Greater Proportion Of Real Sorrow And Distress Which It Alleviates, Their Philanthropy Ought To Moderate Their Critical Pride, Or Religious Intolerance.

Many Of Our Cares Are But A Morbid Way Of Looking At Our Privileges

For He That Does Good, Having The Unlimited Power To Do Evil, Deserves Praise Not Only For The Good Which He Performs, But For The Evil Which He Forbears.