The Lot Of Man - To Suffer

Authors, Like Coins, Grow Dear As They Grow Old.

Superstition Is The Spleen Of The Soul.

Placed On This Isthmus Of A Middle State, A Being Darkly Wise And Rudely Great... He Hangs Between; In Doubt To Act Or Rest; In Doubt To Deem Himself A God, Or Beast; In Doubt His Mind Or Body To Prefer; Born To Die, And Reasoning But To Err.

That Each From Other Differs, First Confess; Next That He Varies From Himself No Less.

Wit In Conversation Is Only A Readiness Of Thought And A Facility Of Expression, Or A Quick Conception And An Easy Delivery.