I Have Sent For You That You

A Thousand Trills And Quivering Sounds In Airy Circles O'er Us Fly, Till, Wafted By A Gentle Breeze, They Faint And Languish By Degrees, And At A Distance Die.

The Time Never Lies Heavy Upon Him; It Is Impossible For Him To Be Alone.

The Hours Of A Wise Man Are Lengthened By His Ideas.

A True Critic Ought To Dwell Upon Excellencies Rather Than Imperfections, To Discover The Concealed Beauties Of A Writer, And Communicate To The World Such Things As Are Worth Their Observation.

The English Writers Of Tragedy Are Possessed With A Notion, That When They Represent A Virtuous Or Innocent Person In Distress, They Ought Not To Leave Him Till They Have Delivered Him Out Of His Troubles, Or Made Him Triumph Over His Enemies.