All that philosophy can teach is to be stubborn or sullen under misfortunes.

The ingratitude of the world can never deprive us of the conscious happiness of having acted with humanity ourselves.

Both wit and understanding are trifles without integrity; it is that which gives value to every character. The ignorant peasant, without fault, is greater than the philosopher with many; for what is genius or courage without a heart?

Write how you want, the critic shall show the world you could have written better.

Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace The day's disasters in his morning face; Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee At all his jokes, for many a joke had he; Full well the busy whisper circling round Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd. Yet was he kind, or if severe in aught, The love he bore to learning was in fault; The village all declar'd how much he knew, 'Twas certain he could write and cipher too.

While Resignation gently slopes away, And all his prospects brightening to the last, His heaven commences ere the world be past.

And what is friendship but a name, A charm that lulls to sleep, A shade that follows wealth or fame, And leaves the wretch to weep?