Loud O'er My Head Though Awful Thunders

It Is A Great Disgrace To Religion, To Imagine That It Is An Enemy To Mirth And Cheerfulness, And A Severe Exacter Of Pensive Looks And Solemn Faces.

Greatness Of Any Kind Has No Greater Foe Than A Habit Of Drinking.

Spur Not An Unbroken Horse; Put Not Your Plowshare Too Deep Into New Land.

Some Feelings Are To Mortals Given With Less Of Earth In Them Than Heaven.

Perhaps The Perusal Of Such Works May, Without Injustice, Be Compared With The Use Of Opiates, Baneful, When Habitually And Constantly Resorted To, But Of Most Blessed Power In Those Moments Of Pain And Of Langour, When The Whole Head Is Sore, And The Whole Heart Sick. If Those Who Rail Indiscriminately At This Species Of Composition, Were To Consider The Quantity Of Actual Pleasure It Produces, And The Much Greater Proportion Of Real Sorrow And Distress Which It Alleviates, Their Philanthropy Ought To Moderate Their Critical Pride, Or Religious Intolerance.