Who Often Reads, Will Sometimes Wish To

Say, Ye Oppress'd By Some Fantastic Woes, Some Jarring Nerve That Baffles Your Repose; Who Press The Downy Couch, While Slaves Advance With Timid Eye, To Read The Distant Glance; Who With Sad Prayers The Weary Doctor Tease, To Name The Nameless Ever-new Disease; Who With Mock Patience Dire Complaints Endure, Which Real Pain And That Alone Can Cure; How Would Ye Bear In Real Pain To Lie, Despised, Neglected, Left Alone To Die? How Would Ye Bear To Draw Your Latest Breath, Where All That's Wretched Paves The Way For Death?

Men Of Many Words Sometimes Argue For The Sake Of Talking; Men Of Ready Tongues Frequently Dispute For The Sake Of Victory; Men In Public Life Often Debate For The Sake Of Opposing The Ruling Party, Or From Any Other Motive Than The Love Of Truth.

Some Hearts Are Hidden, Some Have Not A Heart.

Better To Love Amiss Than Nothing To Have Loved.

Who Often Reads, Will Sometimes Wish To Write.