Griefs Assured Are Felt Before They Come.

Truth Is Never To Be Expected From Authors Whose Understanding Is Warped With Enthusiasm.

Every Language Is So Full Of Its Own Proprieties That What Is Beautiful In One Is Often Barbarous, Nay, Sometimes Nonsense, In Another.

Farewell, Too Little, And Too Lately Known, Whom I Began To Think And Call My Own.

Let Fortune Empty Her Whole Quiver On Me, I Have A Soul That, Like An Ample Shield, Can Take In All, And Verge Enough For More; Fate Was Not Mine, Nor Am I Fate's: Souls Know No Conquerors.

But How Can Finite Grasp Infinity?