And You, My Critics! In

In Vain Sedate Reflections We Would Make When Half Our Knowledge We Must Snatch, Not Take.

Wise Wretch! With Pleasures Too Refined To Please, With Too Much Spirit To Be E'er At Ease, With Too Much Quickness Ever To Be Taught, With Too Much Thinking To Have Common Thought: You Purchase Pain With All That Joy Can Give, And Die Of Nothing But A Rage To Live.

Our Passions Are Like Convulsion Fits, Which, Though They Make Us Stronger For A Time, Leave Us The Weaker Ever After.

Virtue Alone Is Happiness Below.

A Little Learning Is A Dangerous Thing; Drink Of It Deeply, Or Taste It Not, For Shallow Thoughts Intoxicate The Brain, And Drinking Deeply Sobers Us Again.