So Perish All Who Do The Like

New, Distant Scenes Of Endless Science Rise: So Pleas'd At First, The Towring Alps We Try.

No Writing Is Good That Does Not Tend To Better Mankind In Some Way Or Other.

The Search Of Our Future Being Is But A Needless, Anxious, And Haste To Be Knowing, Sooner Than We Can, What, Without All This Solicitude, We Shall Know A Little Later.

All Other Goods By Fortune's Hand Are Given, A Wife Is The Peculiar Gift Of Heaven.

Statesman, Yet Friend To Truth! Of Soul Sincere, In Action Faithful, And In Honour Clear; Who Broke No Promise, Serv'd No Private End, Who Gain'd No Title, And Who Lost No Friend.