The Vain Poet Is Of The Opinion

There Is A Vast Deal Of Vital Air In Loving Words.

Merit Has Rarely Risen Of Itself, But A Pebble Or A Twig Is Often Quite Sufficient For It To Spring From To The Highest Ascent. There Is Usually Some Baseness Before There Is Any Elevation.

The Present, Like A Note In Music, Is Nothing But As It Appertains To What Is Past And What Is To Come.

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

Two Evils, Of Almost Equal Weight, May Befall The Man Of Erudition; Never To Be Listened To, And To Be Listened To Always.