Wit Is The Lowest Form Of Humor.

Remembrance And Reflection How Allied. What Thin Partitions Divides Sense From Thought.

I Lose My Patience, And I Own It Too, When Works Are Censur'd, Not As Bad But New; While If Our Elders Break All Reason's Laws, These Fools Demand Not Pardon But Applause.

The Zeal Of Fools Offends At Any Time.

Of Fight Or Fly, This Choice Is Left Ye, To Resist Or Die.

Here Am I, Dying Of A Hundred Good Symptoms.