The Niobe Of Nations! There She Stands.

A Feast Not Profuse But Elegant; More Of Salt [refinement] Than Of Expense.

Poetry Should Only Occupy The Idle.

A Sort Of Hostile Transaction, Very Necessary To Keep The World Going, But By No Means A Sinecure To The Parties Concerned.

But Quiet To Quick Bosoms Is A Hell.

Who Then Will Explain The Explanation?