I Have Sent For You That You

Jealousy Is That Pain Which A Man Feels From The Apprehension That He Is Not Equally Beloved By The Person Whom He Entirely Loves.

It Is Impossible For Authors To Discover Beauties In One Another's Works; They Have Eyes Only For Spots And Blemishes.

The Ungrown Glories Of His Beamy Hair.

When I Read The Rules Of Criticism, I Immediately Inquire After The Works Of The Author Who Has Written Them, And By That Means Discover What It Is He Likes In A Composition.

Our Grub-street Biographers Watch For The Death Of A Great Man Like So Many Undertakers On Purpose To Make A Penny Of Him.