Praise, Like Gold And Diamonds, Owes Its

I Am Not Yet So Lost In Lexicography, As To Forget That Words Are The Daughters Of The Earth, And That Things Are The Sons Of Heaven. Language Is Only The Instrument Of Science, And Words Are But The Signs Of Ideas: I Wish, However, That The Instrument Might Be Less Apt To Decay, And That Signs Might Be Permanent, Like The Things Which They Denote.

A Lexicographer, A Writer Of Dictionaries, A Harmless Drudge.

Language Is The Dress Of Thought.

The Violence Of War Admits No Distinction; The Lance, That Is Lifted At Guilt And Power, Will Sometimes Fall On Innocence And Gentleness.

A Man Who Exposes Himself When He Is Intoxicated, Has Not The Art Of Getting Drunk.