Poetry Is The Art Of Uniting Pleasure

I Am Not So Lost In Lexicography As To Forget That Words Are The Daughters Of Earth, And That Things Are The Sons Of Heaven.

Foppery Is Never Cured; It Is The Bad Stamina Of The Mind, Which, Like Those Of The Body, Are Never Rectified; Once A Coxcomb Always A Coxcomb.

The True Measure Of A Man Is How He Treats Someone Who Can Do Him Absolutely No Good.

It Was His Peculiar Happiness That He Scarcely Ever Found A Stranger Whom He Did Not Leave A Friend; But It Must Likewise Be Added, That He Had Not Often A Friend Long Without Obliging Him To Become A Stranger.

The Fountain Of Contentment Must Spring Up In The Mind.