Gray Are All The Theories, But Green

Where A Man Has A Passion For Meditating Without The Capacity Of Thinking, A Particular Idea Fixes Itself Fast, And Soon Creates A Mental Disease.

Modern Poets Mix Too Much Water With Their Ink. [ger., Neuere Poeten Thun Viel Wasser In Die Tinte.]

Fortunately, We Can Take In Only So Much Misfortune; What Exceeds That Limit Either Destroys Us Or Leaves Us Indifferent.

The Affairs Of The World Are No More Than So Much Trickery, And A Man Who Toils For Money Or Honour Or Whatever Else In Deference To The Wishes Of Others, Rather Than Because His Own Desire Or Needs Lead Him To Do So, Will Always Be A Fool.

Thou Tremblest Before Anticipated Ills, And Still Bemoanest What Thou Never Losest.