It Is A Maxim That No Man

The Imitator Treads A Beaten Walk, And With All His Diligence Can Only Find A Few Flowers Or Branches Untouched By His Predecessor, The Refuse Of Contempt, Or The Omissions Of Negligence.

All Envy Is Proportionate To Desire; We Are Uneasy At The Attainments Of Another, According As We Think Our Own Happiness Would Be Advanced By The Addition Of That Which He Withholds From Us.

Games Are Good Or Bad As To Their Nature; All May Be Perverted.

The Present Is Never A Happy State To Any Human Being.

In A Man's Letters You Know, Madam, His Soul Lies Naked, His Letters Are Only The Mirrour Of His Breast.