Old Trees In Their Living State Are

I Have Since Written What No Tide Shall Ever Wash Away, What Men Unborn Shall Read O'er Ocean Wide And Find Ianthe's Name Agen.

Why Cannot We Be Delighted With An Author, And Even Feel A Predilection For Him, Without A Dislike Of Others? An Admiration Of Catullus Or Virgil, Of Tibullus Or Ovid, Is Never To Be Heightened By A Discharge Of Bile On Horace.

Ambition Is But Avarice On Stilts, And Masked. God Sometimes Sends A Famine, Sometimes A Pestilence, And Sometimes A Hero, For The Chastisement Of Mankind; None Of Them Surely For Our Admiration.

When We Play The Fool, How Widethe Theatre Expands! Beside,how Long The Audience Sits Before Us!how Many Prompters! What A Chorus!

The Writing Of The Wise Are The Only Riches Our Posterity Cannot Squander.