Hope Is Itself A Species Of Happiness.

Where Secrecy Or Mystery Begins, Vice Or Roguery Is Not Far Off.

The Usual Fortune Of Complaint Is To Excite Contempt More Than Pity.

Few Have Abilities So Much Needed By The Rest Of The World As To Be Caressed On Their Own Terms; And He That Will Not Condescend To Recommend Himself By External Embellishments Must Submit To The Fate Of Just Sentiment Meanly Expressed, And Be Ridiculed And Forgotten Before He Is Understood.

Every Man Has A Lurking Wish To Appear Considerable In His Native Place.

From Bard, To Bard, The Frigid Caution Crept, Till Declamation Roar'd, While Passion Slept.