The Sublime Is Contained In A Grain

Cruelty Is The Highest Pleasure To The Cruel Man; It Is His Love.

He Who Brings Ridicule To Bear Against Truth Finds In His Hand A Blade Without A Hilt. The Most Sparkling And Pointed Flame Of Wit Flickers And Expires Against The Incombustible Walls Of Her Sanctuary.

Every Witticism Is An Inexact Thought; That Which Is Perfectly True Is Imperfectly Witty.

Cruelty In All Countries Is The Companion Of Anger; But There Is Only One, And Never Was Another On The Globe, Where She Coquets Both With Anger And Mirth.

And Modesty, Who, When She Goes, Is Gone For Ever.