I Hate The French Because They Are

To Husband Out Life's Taper At The Close, And Keep The Flames From Wasting By Repose.

The Hours We Pass With Happy Prospects In View Are More Pleasing Than Those Crowded With Fruition.

As Writers Become More Numerous, It Is Natural For Readers To Become More Indolent; Whence Must Necessarily Arise A Desire Of Attaining Knowledge With The Greatest Possible Ease.

O Friendship! Thou Fond Soother Of The Human Breast, To Thee We Fly In Every Calamity; To Thee The Wretched Seek For Succor; On Thee The Care-tired Son Of Misery Fondly Relies; From Thy Kind Assistance The Unfortunate Always Hopes Relief, And May Be Sure Of--disappointment.

Man Wants But Little Here Below, Nor Wants That Little Long.