The Volume Of Nature Is The Book

I Can't Say Whether We Had More Wit Among Us Now Than Usual, But I Am Certain We Had More Laughing, Which Answered The End As Well.

The Youth Who Follows His Appetites Too Soon Seizes The Cup, Before It Has Received Its Best Ingredients, And By Anticipating His Pleasures, Robs The Remaining Parts Of Life Of Their Share, So That His Eagerness Only Produces Manhood Of Imbecility And An Age Of Pain.

Near Yonder Thorn, That Lifts Its Head On High, Where Once The Sign-post Caught The Passing Eye, Low Lies That House Where Nut-brown Draughts Inspired, Where Graybeard Mirth And Smiling Toil Retired, Where Village Statesmen Talk'd With Looks Profound, And News Much Older Than Their Ale Went Round.

Want Of Prudence Is Too Frequently The Want Of Virtue.

What Cities, As Great As This, Have... Promised Themselves Immortality! Posterity Can Hardly Trace The Situation Of Some. The Sorrowful Traveller Wanders Over The Awful Ruins Of Others... Here Stood Their Citadel, But Now Grown Over With Weeds; There Their Senate-house, But Now The Haunt Of Every Noxious Reptile; Temples And Theatres Stood Here, Now Only An Undistinguished Heap Of Ruins.