While An Author Is Yet Living, We

To Live Without Feeling Or Exciting Sympathy, To Be Fortunate Without Adding To The Felicity Of Others, Or Afflicted Without Tasting The Balm Of Pity, Is A State More Gloomy Than Solitude; It Is Not Retreat, But Exclusion From Mankind. Marriage Has Many Pains, But Celibacy Has No Pleasures.

Few Faults Of Style, Whether Real Or Imaginary, Excite The Malignity Of A More Numerous Class Of Readers, Than The Use Of Hard Words.

An Epithet Or Metaphor Drawn From Nature Ennobles Art; An Epithet Or Metaphor Drawn From Art Degrades Nature.

Suspicion Is Very Often A Useless Pain.

Year Chases Year, Decay Pursues Decay, Still Drops Some Joy From With'ring Life Away; New Forms Arise, And Diff'rent Views Engage