When A Man Is Tried Of London,

We Never Do Anything Consciously For The Last Time Without Sadness Of Heart.

If I Had No Duties, And No Reference To Futurity, I Would Spend My Life In Driving Briskly In A Post-chaise With A Pretty Woman.

Words Too Familiar, Or Too Remote, Defeat The Purpose Of A Poet. From Those Sounds Which We Hear On Small Or On Coarse Occasions, We Do Not Easily Receive Strong Impressions, Or Delightful Images; And Words To Which We Are Nearly Strangers, Whenever They Occur, Draw That Attention On Themselves Which They Should Transmit To Other Things.

None Can Be Pleased Without Praise, And Few Can Be Praised Without Falsehood.

Actions Are Visible, Though Motives Are Secret.