Genius Is That Energy Which Collects, Combines,

Grief Is A Species Of Idleness.

I Remember A Passage In Goldsmith's "vicar Of Wakefield," Which He Was Afterwards Fool Enough To Expunge: "i Do Not Love A Man Who Is Zealous For Nothing.

He That Thinks He Can Afford To Be Negligent Is Not Far From Being Poor.

One Of The Amusements Of Idleness Is Reading Without Fatigue Of Close Attention; And The World, Therefore, Swarms With Writers Whose Wish Is Not To Be Studied, But To Be Read.

Truth, Sir, Is A Cow Which Will Yield Such People No More Milk, And So They Are Gone To Milk The Bull.