O What A Thing Is Age! Death

I Strove With None; For None Was Worth My Strife.

As There Are Some Flowers Which You Should Smell But Slightly To Extract All That Is Pleasant In Them ... So There Are Some Men With Whom A Slight Acquaintance Is Quite Sufficient To Draw Out All That Is Agreeable; A More Intimate One Would Be Unsafe And Unsatisfactory.

True Wit, To Every Man, Is That Which Falls On Another.

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.

Was Genius Ever Ungrateful? Mere Talents Are Dry Leaves, Tossed Up And Down By Gusts Of Passion, And Scattered And Swept Away; But, Genius Lies On The Bosom Of Memory, And Gratitude At Her Feet.