A Propensity To Hope And Joy Is

It Is A Certain Rule That Wit And Passion Are Entirely Incompatible. When The Affections Are Moved, There Is No Place For The Imagination.

Look Round This Universe. What An Immense Profusion Of Beings, Animated And Organized, Sensible And Active! You Admire This Prodigious Variety And Fecundity. But Inspect A Little More Narrowly These Living Existences, The Only Beings Worth Regarding. How Hostile And Destructive To Each Other! How Insufficient All Of Them For Their Own Happiness! How Contemptible Or Odious To The Spectator! The Whole Presents Nothing But The Idea Of A Blind Nature, Inpregnated By A Great Vivifying Principle, And Pouring Forth From Her Lap, Without Discernment Or Parental Care, Her Maimed And Abortive Children.

Belief Is Nothing But A More Vivid, Lively, Forcible, Firm, Steady Conception Of An Object, Than What The Imagination Alone Is Ever Able To Attain.

It Is Evident, From Their Method Of Propagation, That A Couple Of Cats, In Fifty Years, Would Stock A Whole Kingdom; And If That Religious Veneration Were Still Paid Them, It Would, In Twenty More, Not Only Be Easier In Egypt To Find A God Than A Man, Which Petronius Says Was The Case In Some Parts Of Italy; But The Gods Must At Last Entirely Starve The Men, And Leave Themselves Neither Priests Nor Votaries Remaining.

Men Are Much Oftener Thrown On Their Knees By The Melancholy Than By The Agreeable Passions.