There Is Delight In Singing, Though None

The Very Beautiful Rarely Love At All; Those Precious Images Are Placed Above The Reach Of The Passions: Time Alone Is Permitted To Efface Them.

Justice Is Often Pale And Melancholy; But Gratitude, Her Daughter, Is Constantly In The Flow Of Spirits And The Bloom Of Loveliness.

When The Mind Loses Its Feeling For Elegance, It Grows Corrupt And Groveling, And Seeks In The Crowd What Ought To Be Found At Home.

We Cannot At Once Catch The Applauses Of The Vulgar And Expect The Approbation Of The Wise.

O What A Thing Is Age! Death Without Death's Quiet.