If you were to make little fishes talk, they would talk like whales.
A volcano may be considered as a cannon of immense size.
We seldom speak of the virtue which we have, but much oftener of that which we lack.
Creation’s heir, the world, the world is mine!
Could a man live by it, it were not unpleasant employment to be a poet.
Some fleeting good, that mocks me with the view.
Where wealth and freedom reign contentment fails, And honour sinks where commerce long prevails.
Silence is become his mother tongue.
Of all kinds of ambition, that which pursues poetical fame is the wildest.
While Resignation gently slopes away, And all his prospects brightening to the last, His heaven commences ere the world be past.
Even children follow’d with endearing wile, And pluck’d his gown, to share the good man’s smile.
Alike all ages. Dames of ancient days Have led their children through the mirthful maze, And the gay grandsire, skill’d in gestic lore, Has frisk’d beneath the burden of threescore.
Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn.
What is genius or courage without a heart?
And as a bird each fond endearment tries To tempt its new-fledg’d offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reprov’d each dull delay, Allur’d to brighter worlds, and led the way.
The premises being thus settled, I proceed to observe that the concatenation of self-existence, proceeding in a reciprocal duplicate ratio, naturally produces a problematical dialogism, which in some measure proves that the essence of spirituality may be referred to the second predicable.
When we take a slight survey of the surface of our globe a thousand objects offer themselves which, though long known, yet still demand our curiosity.
There is nothing so absurd or ridiculous that has not at some time been said by some philosopher.
And e’en while fashion’s brightest arts decoy, The heart distrusting asks if this be joy.
To me more dear, congenial to my heart, One native charm, than all the gloss of art.