O What A Thing Is Age! Death

Wise Or Unwise, Who Doubts For A Moment That Contentment Is The Cause Of Happiness? Yet The Inverse Is True: We Are Contented Because We Are Happy, And Not Happy Because We Are Contented. Well-regulated Minds May Be Satisfied With A Small Portion Of Happiness; None Can Be Happy With A Small Portion Of Content.

Kings Play At War Unfairly With Republics; They Can Only Lose Some Earth, And Some Creatures They Value As Little, While Republics Lose In Every Soldier A Part Of Themselves.

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.

A Critic Is Never Too Severe When He Only Detects The Faults Of An Author. But He Is Worse Than Too Severe When, In Consequence Of This Detection, Be Presumes To Place Himself On A Level With Genius.

Delay In Justice Is Injustice.