Apologies Are Seldom Of Any Use.

A Transition From An Author's Book To His Conversation, Is Too Often Like An Entrance Into A Large City.

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

Hope Is An Amusement Rather Than A Good, And Adapted To None But Very Tranquil Minds.

The Trappings Of A Monarchy Would Set Up An Ordinary Commonwealth.

Many Useful And Valuable Books Lie Buried In Shops And Libraries, Unknown And Unexamined, Unless Some Lucky Compiler Opens Them By Chance, And Finds An Easy Spoil Of Wit And Learning.