Nov. 25, 1802
I intend to examine minutely the nature, cause, birth and growth of the verbal imagination, in the possession of which Barrow excels almost every other writer of prose.
Sunday, December 19
Remember the pear trees in the lovely vale of Teme. Every season Nature converts me from some unloving heresy, and will make a Catholic of me at last.
A fine and apposite quotation, or a good story, so far from promoting, are wont to damp the easy commerce of sensible chit-chat.
We imagine ourselves discoverers, and that we have struck a light, when, in reality, at most, we have but snuffed a candle.