A Tavern Chair Is The Throne Of

It Is However, Reasonable, To Have Perfection In Our Eye; That We May Always Advance Towards It, Though We Know It Never Can Be Reached.

We Are All Prompted By The Same Motives, All Deceived By The Same Fallacies, All Animated By Hope, Obstructed By Danger, Entangled By Desire, And Seduced By Pleasure.

Were It Not For Imagination A Man Would Be As Happy In The Arms Of A Chambermaid As Of A Duchess.

Hope Is Necessary In Every Condition. The Miseries Of Poverty, Of Sickness, Or Captivity, Would, Without This Comfort, Be Insupportable; Nor Does It Appear That The Happiest Lot Of Terrestrial Existence Can Set Us Above The Want Of This General Blessing; Or That Life, When The Gifts Of Nature And Of Fortune Are Accumulated Upon It, Would Not Still Be Wretched, Were It Not Elevated And Delighted By The Expectation Of Some New Possession, Of Some Enjoyment Yet Behind, By Which The Wish Shall At Last Be Satisfied, And The Heart Filled Up To Its Utmost Extent.

The Work Of A Correct And Regular Writer Is A Garden Accurately Formed And Diligently Planted, Varied With Shades, And Scented With Flowers.