Ignorance, Madam, Pure Ignorance.

Judgment Is Forced Upon Us By Experience

To Build Is To Be Robbed.

Every Cold Empirick, When His Heart Is Expanded By A Successful Experiment, Swells Into A Theorist.

There Is Scarcely Any Writer Who Has Not Celebrated The Happiness Of Rural Privacy, And Delighted Himself And His Reader With The Melody Of Birds, The Whisper Of Groves, And The Murmur Of Rivulets.

Attack Is The Reaction. I Never Think I Have Hit Hard Unless It Rebounds.