As with narrow-necked bottles; the less they have in them, the more noise they make in pouring out.

So vast is art, so narrow human wit.

Chaos of thought and passion, all confused; Still by himself abused or disabused; Created half to rise, and half to fall; Great lord of all things, yet a prey to all; Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurled,- The glory, jest, and riddle of the world.

Nor public flame, nor private, dares to shine; Nor human spark is left, nor glimpse divine! Lo! thy dread empire, Chaos! is restored; Light dies before thy uncreating word: Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall; And universal darkness buries all.

Most authors steal their works, or buy.

Man never thinks himself happy, but when he enjoys those things which others want or desire.

Act well your part, there all the honour lies.