Thou Tyrant, Tyrant Jealousy, Thou Tyrant Of

Every Language Is So Full Of Its Own Proprieties That What Is Beautiful In One Is Often Barbarous, Nay, Sometimes Nonsense, In Another.

Reason Saw Not, Till Faith Sprung The Light.

War Is A Trade Of Kings.

Fiction Is Of The Essence Of Poetry As Well As Of Painting; There Is A Resemblance In One Of Human Bodies, Things, And Actions Which Are Not Real, And In The Other Of A True Story By Fiction.

Few Know The Use Of Life Before 'tis Past.