Just Praise Is Only A Debt, But

Every Old Man Complains Of The Growing Depravity Of The World, Of The Petulance And Insolence Of The Rising Generation.

The Main Of Life Is Composed Of Small Incidents And Petty Occurrences; Of Wishes For Objects Not Remote, And Grief For Disappointments Of No Fatal Consequence.

We Are Long Before We Are Convinced That Happiness Is Never To Be Found, And Each Believes It Possessed By Others, To Keep Alive The Hope Of Obtaining It For Himself.

Memory Is The Primary And Fundamental Power, Without Which There Could Be No Other Intellectual Operation.

The Complaint, Therefore, That All Topicks Are Preoccupied, Is Nothing More Than The Murmur Of Ignorance Or Idleness, By Which Some Discourage Others, And Some Themselves; The Mutability Of Mankind Will Always Furnish Writers With New Images, And The Luxuriance Of Fancy May Always Embellish Them With New Decorations.