The pretender sees no one but himself, Because he has the veil of conceit in front; If he were endowed with a God discerning eye, He would see that no one is weaker than himself.
Without taste genius is only a sublime kind of folly. That sure touch which the lyre gives back the right note and nothing more, is even a rarer gift than the creative faculty itself.
ho’ you’re tired and weary Still journey on, till you come to your happy abode, Where all you love you’ve been dreaming of Will be there, at the end of the road.
