Poetry Cannot Be Translation

Every Man Is, Or Hopes To Be, An Idler.

Guilt Has Always Its Horrors And Solicitudes; And, To Make It Yet More Shameful And Detestable, It Is Doomed Often To Stand In Awe Of Those To Whom Nothing Could Give Influence Or Weight But Their Power Of Betraying.

Where Necessity Ends, Desire And Curiosity Begin; And No Sooner Are We Supplied With Everything Nature Can Demand Than We Sit Down To Contrive Artificial Appetites.

This Was A Good Dinner Enough, To Be Sure, But It Was Not A Dinner To Ask A Man To.

Unconstraint Is The Grace Of Conversation.