Ill Writers Are Usually The Sharpest Censors.

Truth Is The Foundation Of All Knowledge And The Cement Of All Societies.

Truth Is Never To Be Expected From Authors Whose Understanding Is Warped With Enthusiasm.

While I Am Compassed Round With Mirth, My Soul Lies Hid In Shades Of Grief, Whence, Like The Bird Of Night, With Half-shut Eyes, She Peeps, And Sickens At The Sight Of Day.

Long Pains, With Use Of Bearing, Are Half Eased.

Imitators Are But A Servile Kind Of Cattle.