Nature Never Gives Everything At

The Stream Of Time, Which Is Continually Washing The Dissoluble Fabrics Of Other Poets, Passes Without Injury By The Adamant Of Shakespeare.

While An Author Is Yet Living, We Estimate His Powers By His Worst Performance; And When He Is Dead, We Rate Him By His Best.

This Is My History; Like All Other Histories, A Narrative Of Misery.

You Never Find People Laboring To Convince You That You May Live Very Happily Upon A Plentiful Income.

Preserve Me From Unseasonable And Immoderate Sleep.