But How Can Finite Grasp Infinity?

The End Of Satire Is The Amendment Of Vices By Correction; And He Who Writes Honestly Is No More An Enemy To The Offender Than The Physician To The Patient When He Prescribes Harsh Remedies.

A Brave Man Scorns To Quarrel Once A Day; Like Hectors In At Every Petty Fray.

For Thee, Sweet Month; The Groves Green Liveries Wear. If Not The First, The Fairest Of The Year; For Thee The Graces Lead The Dancing Hours, And Nature's Ready Pencil Paints The Flowers. When Thy Short Reign Is Past, The Feverish Sun The Sultry Tropic Fears, And Moves More Slowly On.

Among Our Crimes Oblivion May Be Set.

A Narrow Mind Begets Obstinacy; We Do Not Easily Believe What We Cannot See.