To A Poet Nothing Can Be Useless.

Art Hath An Enemy Called Ignorance.

What Is Written Without Effort Is In General Read Without Pleasure.

The Mathematicians Are Well Acquainted With The Difference Between Pure Science, Which Has Only To Do With Ideas, And The Application Of Its Laws To The Use Of Life, In Which They Are Constrained To Submit To The Imperfections Of Matter And The Influence Of Accidents.

I Am Not Yet So Lost In Lexicography, As To Forget That Words Are The Daughters Of The Earth, And That Things Are The Sons Of Heaven. Language Is Only The Instrument Of Science, And Words Are But The Signs Of Ideas: I Wish, However, That The Instrument Might Be Less Apt To Decay, And That Signs Might Be Permanent, Like The Things Which They Denote.

I Am Always Sorry When Any Language Is Lost, Because Languages Are The Pedigrees Of Nations.