It Seemed To Me Pretty Plain, That

The Folly Of Others Is Ever Most Ridiculous To Those Who Are Themselves Most Foolish.

I Hate The French Because They Are All Slaves And Wear Wooden Shoes.

Could A Man Live By It, It Were Not Unpleasant Employment To Be A Poet.

As Some Tall Cliff That Lifts Its Awful Form, Swells From The Vale, And Midway Leaves The Storm,- Though Round Its Breast The Rolling Clouds Are Spread, Eternal Sunshine Settles On Its Head.

To What Fortuitous Occurrence Do We Not Owe Every Pleasure And Convenience Of Our Lives.