Ourselves Are To Ourselves The Cause Of

No Tribute Is Laid On Castles In The Air.

Genius Is Of No Country; Her Pure Ray Spreads All Abroad, As General As The Day.

Enough Of Self, That Darling Luscious Theme, O'er Which Philosophers In Raptures Dream; Of Which With Seeming Disregard They Write Then Prizing Most When Most They Seem To Slight.

The Surest Way To Health, Say What They Will, Is Never To Suppose We Shall Be Ill; Most Of The Ills Which We Poor Mortals Know From Doctors And Imagination Flow.

The More Haste, Ever The Worst Speed.