How Happy The Lover, How

Words Are But Pictures Of Our Thoughts.

I Never Saw Any Good That Came Of Telling Truth.

He Was The Man Who Of All Modern, And Perhaps Ancient Poets, Had The Largest And Most Comprehensive Soul. . . . He Was Naturally Learn'd; He Needed Not The Spectacles Of Books To Read Nature; He Looked Inwards, And Found Her There. . . . He Is Many Times Flat, Insipid; His Comic Wit Degenerating In To Clenches, His Serious Swelling Into Bombast. But He Is Always Great, When Some Occasion Is Presented To Him.

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

Presence Of Mind And Courage In Distress, Are More Than Arrives To Procure Success?