Sloth Is The Tempter That Beguiles And

The Fable Runs That The Gods Mix Our Pains And Pleasure In One Cup, And Thus Mingle For Us The Adulterate Immortality Which We Alone Are Permitted Here To Enjoy. Voluptuous Raptures, Could We Prolong These At Pleasure, Would Dissipate And Dissolve Us. A Sip Is The Most That Mortals Are Permitted From Any Goblet Of Delight.

Genius Has Oftenest Been The Pariah Of His Time, The Unhoused God Whom None Cared For, Unnamed Till They Whom He First Promoted, Enriched And Honored, Found It Honorable To Own Their Benefactor.

Who Loves A Garden, Still His Eden Keeps, Perennial Pleasures Plants, And Wholesome Harvests Reaps.

There Are Truths That Shield Themselves Behind Veils, And Are Best Spoken By Implication. Even The Sun Veils Himself In His Own Rays To Blind The Gaze Of The Too Curious Starer.

One Cannot Celebrate Books Sufficiently. After Saying His Best, Still Something Better Remains To Be Spoken In Their Praise. As With Friends, One Finds New Beauties At Every Interview, And Would Stay Long In The Presence Of Those Choice Companions. As With Friends, He May Dispense With A Wide Acquaintance. Few And Choice. The Richest Minds Need Not Large Libraries.