Prose On Certain Occasions Can Bear A

The Habit Of Pleasing By Flattery Makes A Language Soft; The Fear Of Offending By Truth Makes It Circuitous And Conventional.

Falsehood Is For A Season.

A Little Praise Is Good For A Shy Temper; It Teaches It To Rely On The Kindness Of Others.

My Thoughts Are My Company; I Can Bring Them Together, Select Them, Detain Them, Dismiss Them.

It Appears To Be Among The Laws Of Nature, That The Mighty Of Intellect Should Be Pursued And Carped By The Little, As The Solitary Flight Of One Great Bird Is Followed By The Twittering Petulance Of Many Smaller.