Beauty Draws Us With A Single Hair.

Pleased To The Last, He Crops The Flowery Food, And Licks The Hand Just Raised To Shed His Blood.

To Pardon Those Absurdities In Ourselves Which We Cannot Suffer In Others Is Neither Better Nor Worse Than To Be More Willing To Be Fools Ourselves Than To Have Others So.

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

"with Ev'ry Pleasing, Ev'ry Prudent Part, Say, What Can Chloe Want?"-she Wants A Heart.

How Loved, How Honored Once, Avails Thee Not, To Whom Related, Or By Whom Begot A Heap Of Dust Alone Remains Of Thee 'tis All Thou Art, And All The Proud Shall Be!