Nature I Loved, And Next To Nature,

Let Me Take Up Your Metaphor. Friendship Is A Vase, Which, When It Is Flawed By Heat Or Violence Or Accident, May As Well Be Broken At Once; It Can Never Be Trusted After. The More Graceful And Ornamental It Was, The More Clearly Do We Discern The Hopelessness Of Restoring It To Its Former State. Coarse Stones, If They Are Fractured, May Be Cemented Again; Precious Stones, Never.

Why Cannot We Be Delighted With An Author, And Even Feel A Predilection For Him, Without A Dislike Of Others? An Admiration Of Catullus Or Virgil, Of Tibullus Or Ovid, Is Never To Be Heightened By A Discharge Of Bile On Horace.

I Have Suffered More From My Bad Dancing Than From All The Misfortunes And Miseries Of My Life Put Together.

Life And Death Appear More Certainly Ours Than Whatsoever Else; And Yet Hardly Can That Be Called Ours, Which Comes Without Our Knowledge, And Goes Without It.

Cruelty, If We Consider It As A Crime, Is The Greatest Of All; If We Consider It As A Madness, We Are Equally Justifiable In Applying To It The Readiest And The Surest Means Of Oppression.