Bounty Always Receives Part Of Its Value

Wealth Is Nothing In Itself; It Is Not Useful But When It Departs From Us.

Wheresoe'er I Turn My View, All Is Strange, Yet Nothing New: Endless Labor All Along, Endless Labor To Be Wrong: Phrase That Time Has Flung Away; Uncouth Words In Disarray, Trick'd In Antique Ruff And Bonnet, Ode, And Elegy, And Sonnet.

Many Causes May Vitiate A Writer's Judgement Of His Own Works. On That Which Has Cost Him Much Labour He Sets A High Value, Because He Is Unwilling To Think That He Has Been Diligent In Vain: What Has Been Produced Without Toilsome Efforts Is Considered With Delight As A Proof Of Vigorous Faculties And Fertile Invention; And The Last Work, Whatever It Be, Has Necessarily Most Of The Grace Of Novelty.

It Was The Maxim, I Think, Of Alphonsus Of Aragon, That Dead Counsellors Are Safest. The Grave Puts An End To Flattery And Artifice, And The Information We Receive From Books Is Pure From Interest, Fear, And Ambition. Dead Counsellors Are Likewise Most Instructive, Because They Are Heard With Patience And With Reverence.

Enlarge My Life With Multitude Of Days, In Health, In Sickness, Thus The Suppliant Prays; Hides From Himself His State, And Shuns To Know, That Life Protracted Is Protracted Woe. Time Hovers O'er, Impatient To Destroy, And Shuts Up All The Passages Of Joy.