How Shall I Lose The Sin, Yet

We Ought, In Humanity, No More To Despise A Man For The Misfortunes Of The Mind Than For Those Of The Body, When They Are Such As He Cannot Help; Were This Thoroughly Considered We Should No More Laugh At A Man For Having His Brains Cracked Than For Having His Head Broke.

But To The World No Bugbear Is So Great, As Want Of Figure And A Small Estate.

Every Man Has Just As Much Vanity As He Wants Understanding.

Love, Hope, And Joy, Fair Pleasure's Smiling Train, Hate, Fear, And Grief, The Family Of Pain, These Mix'd With Art, And To Due Bounds Confin'd Make And Maintain The Balance Of The Mind.

Whoe'er He Be That Tells My Faults, I Hate Him Mortally.