One Can Never Outlive One's Vanity.

Miserable Is The Fate Of Writers: If They Are Agreeable, They Are Offensive; And If Dull, They Starve.

Solitude Begets Whimsies.

Copiousness Of Words, However Ranged, Is Always False Eloquence, Though It Will Ever Impose On Some Sort Of Understandings.

We Travellers Are In Very Hard Circumstances. If We Say Nothing But What Has Been Said Before Us, We Are Dull And Have Observed Nothing. If We Tell Anything New, We Are Laughed At As Fabulous And Romantic.

As I Approach A Second Childhood, I Endeavor To Enter Into The Pleasures Of It.