Is it, in heav'n, a crime to love too well?

The light of Heaven restore; Give me to see, and Ajax asks no more.

When we are young, we are slavishly employed in procuring something whereby we may live comfortably when we grow old; and when we are old, we perceive it is too late to live as we proposed.

For what I have publish'd, I can only hope to be pardon'd; but for what I have burned, I deserve to be prais'd.

That, chang'd thro' all and yet in all the same, Great in the Earth as in th' Ætherial frame, Warms in the Sun, refreshes in the Breeze, Glows in the Stars, and blossoms in the Trees... Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part... Submit - in this, or any other Sphere, Secure to be as blest as thou canst bear. All Nature is but Art, unknown to thee; All Chance, Direction which thou canst not see; All Discord, Harmony not understood... All partial Evil, universal Good.

Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true, But are not critics to their judgment, too?

Who dare to love their country, and be poor.