Avarice Is Always Poor.

To Tell Of Disappointment And Misery, To Thicken The Darkness Of Futurity, And Perplex The Labyrinth Of Uncertainty, Has Been Always A Delicious Employment Of The Poets

No One Ever Became Great By Imitation.

Reason Elevates Our Thoughts As High As The Stars, And Leads Us Through The Vast Space Of This Mighty Fabric; Yet It Comes Far Short Of The Real Extent Of Our Corporeal Being.

We Owe To Memory Not Only The Increase Of Our Knowledge, And Our Progress In Rational Inquiries, But Many Other Intellectual Pleasures

The Coquette Has Companions, Indeed, But No Lovers,--for Love Is Respectful And Timorous; And Where Among Her Followers Will She Find A Husband?