Whatever Is, Is In Its Causes Just.

For All The Happiness Mankind Can Gain Is Not In Pleasure, But In Rest From Pain.

With Odorous Oil Thy Head And Hair Are Sleek; And Then Thou Kemb'st The Tuzzes On Thy Cheek: Of These, My Barbers Take A Costly Care.

Reason Is A Crutch For Age, But Youth Is Strong Enough To Walk Alone.

Criticism Is Now Become Mere Hangman's Work, And Meddles Only With The Faults Of Authors ; Nay, The Critic Is Disgusted Less With Their Absurdities Than Excellence ; And You Cannot Displease Him More Than In Leaving Him Little Room For His Malice.

He Who Proposes To Be An Author Should First Be A Student.