The Flame Of Anger, Bright And Brief,

The Sweetest Souls, Like The Sweetest Flowers, Soon Canker In Cities, And No Purity Is Rarer There Than The Purity Of Delight.

A Critic Is Never Too Severe When He Only Detects The Faults Of An Author. But He Is Worse Than Too Severe When, In Consequence Of This Detection, Be Presumes To Place Himself On A Level With Genius.

We Enter Our Studies, And Enjoy A Society Which We Alone Can Bring Together. We Raise No Jealousy By Conversing With One In Preference To Another; We Give No Offence To The Most Illustrious By Questioning Him As Long As We Will, And Leaving Him As Abruptly. Diversity Of Opinion Raises No Tumult In Our Presence: Each Interlocutor Stands Before Us, Speaks Or Is Silent, And We Adjourn Or Decide The Business At Our Leisure.

How Sweet And Sacred Idleness Is!

Fame, They Tell You, Is Air; But Without Air There Is No Life For Any; Without Fame There Is None For The Best.