No king nor nation one moment can retard the appointed hour.

All habits gather by unseen degrees.

He who would pry behind the scenes oft sees a counterfeit.

So the false spider, when her nets are spread, deep ambushed in her silent den does lie.

Ever a glutton, at another's cost, But in whose kitchen dwells perpetual frost.

Genius must be born, it can't be taught.

He was the man who of all modern, and perhaps ancient poets, had the largest and most comprehensive soul. . . . He was naturally learn'd; he needed not the spectacles of books to read Nature; he looked inwards, and found her there. . . . He is many times flat, insipid; his comic wit degenerating in to clenches, his serious swelling into bombast. But he is always great, when some occasion is presented to him.