The Sublime Is Contained In A Grain

The Eyes Of Critics, Whether In Commending Or Carping, Are Both On One Side, Like A Turbot's.

Men Universally Are Ungrateful Towards Him Who Instructs Them, Unless, In The Hours Or In The Intervals Of Instruction, He Presents A Sweet-cake To Their Self-love.

He Who First Praises A Book Becomingly Is Next In Merit To The Author.

Truth Is A Point, The Subtlest And Finest; Harder Than Adamant; Never To Be Broken, Worn Away, Or Blunted. Its Only Bad Quality Is, That It Is Sure To Hurt Those Who Touch It; And Likely To Draw Blood, Perhaps The Life Blood, Of Those Who Press Earnestly Upon It.

Men, Like Nails, Lose Their Usefulness When They Lose Their Direction And Begin To Bend.