Come, Let Me Know What It Is

Just Praise Is Only A Debt, But Flattery Is A Present.

How Many May A Man Of Diffusive Conversation Count Among His Acquaintances, Whose Lives Have Been Signalized By Numberless Escapes; Who Never Cross The River But In A Storm, Or Take A Journey Into The Country Without More Adventures Than Befel The Knights-errant Of Ancient Times In Pathless Forests Or Enchanted Castles! How Many Must He Know, To Whom Portents And Prodigies Are Of Daily Occurrence; And For Whom Nature Is Hourly Working Wonders Invisible To Every Other Eye, Only To Supply Them With Subjects Of Conversation?

Little Would Be Wanting To The Happiness Of Life, If Every Man Could Conform To The Right As Soon As He Was Shown It.

I Would Be Loath To Speak Ill Of Any Person Who I Do Not Know Deserves It, But I Am Afraid He Is An Attorney.

Sir, They Are A Race Of Convicts, And Ought To Be Thankful For Any Thing We Allow Them Short Of Hanging.