Critics, Like The Rest Of

To Strive With Difficulties, And To Conquer Them, Is The Highest Human Felicity; The Next Is, To Strive, And Deserve To Conquer: But He Whose Life Has Passed Without A Contest, And Who Can Boast Neither Success Nor Merit, Can Survey Himself Only As A Useless Filler Of Existence; Ad If He Is Content With His Own Character, Must Owe His Satisfaction To Insensibility.

Human Happiness Has Always Its Abatements; The Brightest Sunshine Of Success Is Not Without A Cloud.

A Writer Who Obtains His Full Purpose Loses Himself In His Own Lustre.

Some Desire Is Necessary To Keep Life In Motion, And He Whose Real Wants Are Supplied Must Admit Those Of Fancy.

He That Pursues Fame With Just Claims, Trusts His Happiness To The Winds; But He That Endeavors After It By False Merit, Has To Fear, Not Only The Violence Of The Storm, But The Leaks Of His Vessel.