I really cannot know whether I am or am not the Genius you are pleased to call me, but I am very willing to put up with the mistake, if it be one.

O Gold! I still prefer thee unto paper, which makes bank credit like a bark of vapour.

My turn of mind is so given to taking things in the absurd point of view, that it breaks out in spite of me every now and then.

There are some feelings time cannot benumb, Nor torture shake.

Man marks the earth with ruin - his control stops with the shore.

What is the end of Fame? 'tis but to fill A certain portion of uncertain paper: Some liken it to climbing up a hill, Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapour: For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill, And bards burn what they call their "midnight taper," To have, when the original is dust, A name, a wretched picture, and worse bust.

Pythagoras, Locke, Socrates - but pages might be filled up, as vainly as before, with the sad usage of all sorts of sages, who in his life-time, each was deemed a bore! The loftiest minds outrun their tardy ages.