Words Are But Pictures Of Our Thoughts.

Seas Are The Fields Of Combat For The Winds; But When They Sweep Along Some Flowery Coast, Their Wings Move Mildly, And Their Rage Is Lost.

I Strongly Wish For What I Faintly Hope; Like The Daydreams Of Melancholy Men, I Think And Think In Things Impossible, Yet Love To Wander In That Golden Maze.

When Beauty Fires The Blood, How Love Exalts The Mind!

How Easy It Is To Call Rogue And Villain, And That Wittily! But How Hard To Make A Man Appear A Fool, A Blockhead, Or A Knave, Without Using Any Of Those Opprobrious Terms! Tosparethegrossness Ofthenames, And To Dothe Thing Yet Moreseverely, Isto Drawa Full Face, And Tomake The Nose And Cheeks Stand Out, And Yet Not To Employ Any Depth Of Shadowing.

Only Man Clogs His Happiness With Care, Destroying What Is With Thoughts Of What May Be.