Courage Is The Thing. All Goes If

I Think I May Define Taste To Be That Faculty Of The Soul Which Discerns The Beauties Of An Author With Pleasure, And The Imperfections With Dislike.

Husband A Lie, And Trump It Up In Some Extraordinary Emergency.

There Is Nobody So Weak Of Invention That Cannot Make Some Little Stories To Villify His Enemy.

A Thousand Glorious Actions That Might Claim Triumphant Laurels, And Immortal Fame, Confus'd In Crowds Of Glorious Actions Lie, And Troops Of Heroes Undistinguished Die.

Nature Has Laid Out All Her Art In Beautifying The Face; She Has Touched It With Vermilion, Planted In It A Double Row Of Ivory, Made It The Seat Of Smiles And Blushes, Lighted It Up And Enlivened It With The Brightness Of The Eyes, Hung It On Each Side With Curious Organs Of Sense, Given It Airs And Graces That Cannot Be Described, And Surrounded It With Such A Flowing Shade Of Hair As Sets All Its Beauties In The Most Agreeable Light.