Guilt Once Harbored In The Conscious Breast,

He That Condemns Himself To Compose On A Stated Day Will Often Bring To His Task Attention Dissipated, A Memory Embarrassed, An Imagination Overwhelmed, A Mind Distracted With Anxieties, A Body Languishing With Disease: He Will Labour On A Barren Topic Till It Is Too Late To Change It; Or, In The Ardour Of Invention, Diffuse His Thoughts Into Wild Exuberance, Which The Pressing Hour Of Publication Cannot Suffer Judgment To Examine Or Reduce.

The Pleasure Of Expecting Enjoyment Is Often Greater Than That Of Obtaining It, And The Completion Of Almost Every Wish Is Found A Disappointment.

Genius Now And Then Produces A Lucky Trifle. We Still Read The Dove Of Anacreon, And Sparrow Of Catullus; And A Writer Naturally Pleases Himself With A Performance Which Owes Nothing To The Subject.

People In Distress Never Think That You Feel Enough.

Pope Had Been Flattered Till He Thought Himself One Of The Moving Powers Of The System Of Life. When He Talked Of Laying Down His Pen, Those Who Sat Round Him Intreated And Implored; And Self-love Did Not Suffer Him To Suspect That They Went Away And Laughed.