There Is A Vulgar Incredulity, Which In

We Are Like The Herb Which Flourisheth Most When It Is Most Trampled On.

Art Thou A Friend To Roderick?

The Lover's Pleasure, Like That Of The Hunter, Is In The Chase, And The Brightest Beauty Loses Half Its Merit, As The Flower Its Perfume, When The Willing Hand Can Reach It Too Easily. There Must Be Doubt; There Must Be Difficulty And Danger.

If A Faultless Poem Could Be Produced, I Am Satisfied It Would Tire The Critics Themselves; And Annoy The Whole Reading World With The Spleen.

Fight On, Brave Knights! Man Dies, But Glory Lives! Fight On; Death Is Better Than Defeat! Fight On Brave Knights! For Bright Eyes Behold Your Deeds!