The Wretch Condemn'd With Life To Part,

He Who Fights And Runs Away May Live To Fight Another Day.

Books Are Necessary To Correct The Vices Of The Polite; But Those Vices Are Ever Changing, And The Antidote Should Be Changed Accordingly Should Still Be New.

Measures, Not Men, Have Always Been My Mark.

But Me, Not Destined Such Delights To Share, My Prime Of Life In Wandering Spent And Care; Impell'd, With Steps Unceasing, To Pursue Some Fleeting Good, That Mocks Me With The View That, Like The Circle Bounding Earth And Skies, Allures From Far, Yet, As I Follow, Flies; My Fortune Leads To Traverse Reams Alone, And Find No Spot Of All The World My Own.

The Polite Of Every Country Seem To Have But One Character. A Gentleman Of Sweden Differs But Little, Except In Trifles, From One Of Any Other Country. It Is Among The Vulgar We Are To Find Those Distinctions Which Characterize A People.