Vain, Very Vain, My Weary Search To

In All My Wanderings Round This World Of Care, In All My Griefs-and God Has Given My Share- I Still Had Hopes My Latest Hours To Crown, Amidst These Humble Bowers To Lay Me Down.

Be Not Affronted At A Joke. If One Throw Salt At Thee, Thou Wilt Receive No Harm, Unless Thou Art Raw.

Alas! The Joys That Fortune Brings Are Trifling, And Decay, And Those Who Prize The Trifling Things, More Trifling Still Than They.

One Writer, For Instance, Excels At A Plan Or A Title Page, Another Works Away At The Body Of The Book, And A Third Is A Dab At An Index.

When We Take A Slight Survey Of The Surface Of Our Globe A Thousand Objects Offer Themselves Which, Though Long Known, Yet Still Demand Our Curiosity.