Solitude Begets Whimsies.

It Is The Common Error Of Builders And Parents To Follow Some Plan They Think Beautiful (and Perhaps Is So) Without Considering That Nothing Is Beautiful That Is Misplaced.

As I Approach A Second Childhood, I Endeavor To Enter Into The Pleasures Of It.

I Hate The Noise And Hurry Inseparable From Great Estates And Titles, And Look Upon Both As Blessings That Ought Only To Be Given To Fools, For 'tis Only To Them That They Are Blessings.

Men Are Vile Inconstant Toads.

We Are No More Free Agents Than The Queen Of Clubs When She Victoriously Takes Prisoner The Knave Of Hearts.