People In Distress Never Think That You

Riches, Perhaps, Do Not So Often Produce Crimes As Incite Accusers.

Our Supple Tribes Repress Their Patriot Throats, And Ask No Questions But The Price Of Votes.

When A Friend Is Carried To His Grave, We At Once Find Excuses For Every Weakness, And Palliation Of Every Fault. We Recollect A Thousand Endearments, Which Before Glided Off Our Minds Without Impression, A Thousand Favors Unrepaid, A Thousand Duties Unperformed; And Wish, Vainly Wish, For His Return, Not So Much That We May Receive As That We May Bestow Happiness, And Recompense That Kindness Which Before We Never Understood.

You Cannot Give Me An Instance Of Any Man Who Is Permitted To Lay Out His Own Time Contriving Not To Have Tedious Hours.

Admiration Begins Where Acquaintance Ceases