Love Is Only One Of Many Passions.

We All Live Upon The Hope Of Pleasing Somebody, And The Pleasure Of Pleasing Ought To Be Greatest, And At Last Always Will Be Greatest, When Our Endeavours Are Exerted In Consequence Of Our Duty.

In The Condition Of Men, It Frequently Happens That Grief And Anxiety Lie Hid Under The Golden Robes Of Prosperity; And The Gloom Of Calamity Is Cheered By Secret Radiations Of Hope And Comfort; As In The Works Of Nature, The Bog Is Sometimes Covered With Flowers, And The Mine Concealed In The Barren Crags.

Dogs Have Not The Power Of Comparing. A Dog Will Take A Small Piece Of Meat As Readily As A Large, When Both Are Before Him.

He That Would Be Superior To External Influences Must First Become Superior To His Own Passions.

We Are Perpetually Moralists, But We Are Geometricians Only By Chance. Our Intercourse With Intellectual Nature Is Necessary; Our Speculations Upon Matter Are Voluntary, And At Leisure.