Their Is No Defense Against Criticism Except

I Consider An Human Soul Without Education Like Marble In The Quarry, Which Shows None Of Its Inherent Beauties Till The Skill Of The Polisher Fetches Out The Colours, Makes The Surface Shine, And Discovers Every Ornamental Cloud, Spot And Vein That Runs Through The Body Of It.

Good Nature Is More Agreeable In Conversation Than Wit And Gives A Certain Air To The Countenance Which Is More Amiable Than Beauty.

Among The Several Kinds Of Beauty, The Eye Takes Most Delight In Colors.

I'm Weary Of Conjectures, - This Must End 'em. Thus Am I Doubly Armed: My Death And Life, My Bane And Antidote, Are Both Before Me: This In A Moment Brings Me To An End; But This Informs Me I Shall Never Die. The Soul, Secured In Her Existence, Smiles At The Drawn Dagger, And Defies Its Point. The Stars Shall Fade Away, The Sun Himself Grow Dim With Age, And Nature Sink In Years; But Thou Shalt Flourish In Immortal Youth, Unhurt Amidst The War Of Elements, The Wrecks Of Matter, And The Crush Of Worlds.

There Is No Talent So Pernicious As Eloquence To Those Who Have It Under Command.