Poetry Is A Kind Of Ingenious Nonsense

There Do Remain Dispersed In The Soil Of Human Nature Divers Seeds Of Goodness, Of Benignity, Of Ingenuity, Which, Being Cherished, Excited, And Quickened By Good Culture, Do, By Common Experience, Thrust Out Flowers Very Lovely, And Yield Fruits Very Pleasant Of Virtue And Goodness.

The Fruits Of The Earth Do Not More Obviously Require Labor And Cultivation To Prepare Them For Our Use And Subsistence, Than Our Faculties Demand Instruction And Regulation In Order To Qualify Us To Become Upright And Valuable Members Of Society, Useful To Others, Or Happy Ourselves.

It Consisteth In One Knows Not What, And Springeth Up One Can Hardly Tell How. Its Ways Are Unaccountable And Inexplicable, Being Answerable To The Numberless Rovings Of Fancy And Windings Of Language.

Sin Is Never At A Stay; If We Do Not Retreat From It, We Shall Advance In It; And The Farther On We Go, The More We Have To Come Back.

An Accomplished Mathematician, I.e. A Most Wretched Orator.