Tis Love Alone Can Make Our Fetters

A Poet Is A Painter In His Way, He Draws To The Life, But In Another Kind; We Draw The Nobler Part, The Soul And The Mind; The Pictures Of The Pen Shall Outlast Those Of The Pencil, And Even Worlds Themselves.

Nothing Is More Capable Of Troubling Our Reason, And Consuming Our Health, Than Secret Notions Of Jealousy In Solitude.

Where There Is No Novelty, There Can Be No Curiosity.

You May Make Love In Dancing As Well As Sitting.

Come Away; Poverty's Catching.