True Wit, To Every Man, Is That

I Strove With None; For None Was Worth My Strife.

Those Who In Living Fill The Smallest Space, In Death Have Often Left The Greatest Void.

Be Assured That, Although Men Of Eminent Genius Have Been Guilty Of All Other Vices, None Worthy Of More Than A Secondary Name Has Ever Been A Gamester. Either An Excess Of Avarice Or A Deficiency Of What, In Physics, Is Called Excitability, Is The Cause Of It; Neither Of Which Can Exist In The Same Bosom With Genius, With Patriotism, Or With Virtue.

Such Is Our Impatience, Such Our Hatred Of Procrastination, To Everything But The Amendment Of Our Practices And The Adornment Of Our Nature, One Would Imagine We Were Dragging Time Along By Force, And Not He Us.

It Appears To Be Among The Laws Of Nature, That The Mighty Of Intellect Should Be Pursued And Carped By The Little, As The Solitary Flight Of One Great Bird Is Followed By The Twittering Petulance Of Many Smaller.