The Finest Landscape In The

Criticism, As It Was First Instituted By Aristotle, Was Meant As A Standard Of Judging Well.

With What Hope Can We Endeavor To Persuade The Ladies That The Time Spent At The Toilet Is Lost In Vanity.

There Is No Wisdom In Useless And Hopeless Sorrow, But There Is Something In It So Like Virtue, That He Who Is Wholly Without It Cannot Be Loved.

Language Is The Dress Of Thought; And As The Noblest Mien Or Most Graceful Action Would Be Degraded And Obscured By A Garb Appropriated To The Gross Employments Of Rusticks Or Mechanics, So The Most Heroick Sentiments Will Lose Their Efficacy

Many Of Our Miseries Are Merely Comparative: We Are Often Made Unhappy, Not By The Presence Of Any Real Evil, But By The Absence Of Some Fictitious Good; Of Something Which Is Not Required By Any Real Want Of Nature, Which Has Not In Itself Any Power Of Gratification, And Which Neither Reason Nor Fancy Would Have Prompted Us To Wish, Did We Not See It In The Possession Of Others.