In The Loss Of An Object We

To Be Exempt From The Passions With Which Others Are Tormented, Is The Only Pleasing Solitude.

Content Thyself To Be Obscurely Good.

Without Constancy There Is Neither Love, Friendship, Nor Virtue In The World.

Whether Dark Presages Of The Night Proceed From Any Latent Power Of The Soul During Her Abstraction, Or From Any Operation Of Subordinate Spirits, Has Been A Dispute.

If We Hope For What We Are Not Likely To Possess, We Act And Think In Vain, And Make Life A Greater Dream And Shadow Than It Really Is.