Of All Noises, I Think Music Is

It Is Very Common For Us To Desire Most What We Are Least Qualified To Obtain.

All The Performances Of Human Art, At Which We Look With Praise Or Wonder, Are Instances Of The Resistless Force Of Perseverance.

Is Not A Patron, My Lord, One Who Looks With Unconcern On A Man Struggling For Life In The Water, And When He Has Reached Ground Encumbers Him With Help? The Notice Which You Have Been Pleased To Take Care Of My Labors, Had It Been Early, Had Been Kind; But It Has Been Delayed Till I Am Indifferent, And Cannot Enjoy It; Till I Am Solitary, And Cannot Impart It; Till I Am Known, And Do Not Want It.

The Hapless Wit Has His Labors Always To Begin, The Call For Novelty Is Never Satisfied, And One Jest Only Raises Expectation Of Another.

I Have Protracted My Work Till Most Of Those Whom I Wished To Please Have Sunk Into The Grave, And Success And Miscarriage Are Empty Sounds: I Therefore Dismiss It With Frigid Tranquillity, Having Little To Fear Or Hope From Censure Or From Praise.