Poetry Is Evidently A Contagious Complaint.

It Is Not Poverty So Much As Pretense That Harasses A Ruined Man - The Struggle Between A Proud Mind And An Empty Purse - The Keeping Up Of A Hollow Show That Must Soon Come To An End.

The Only Happy Author In This World Is He Who Is Below The Care Of Reputation.

In Civilized Life, Where The Happiness, And Indeed Almost The Existence, Of Man Depends So Much Upon The Opinion Of His Fellow Men, He Is Constantly Acting A Studied Part.

Who Ever Hears Of Fat Men Heading A Riot, Or Herding Together In Turbulent Mobs? No - No, Your Lean, Hungry Men Who Are Continually Worrying Society, And Setting The Whole Community By The Ears.

It Was Shakespeare's Notion That On This Day Birds Begin To Couple; Hence Probably Arose The Custom Of Sending Fancy Love-billets.