Pleasure Itself Is Not A Vice

A Contempt Of The Monuments And The Wisdom Of The Past, May Be Justly Reckoned One Of The Reigning Follies Of These Days, To Which Pride And Idleness Have Equally Contributed.

The Violence Of War Admits No Distinction; The Lance, That Is Lifted At Guilt And Power, Will Sometimes Fall On Innocence And Gentleness.

The Mental Disease Of The Present Generation Is Impatience Of Study, Contempt Of The Great Masters Of Ancient Wisdom, And A Disposition To Rely Wholly Upon Unassisted Genius And Natural Sagacity. The Wits Of These Happy Days Have Discovered A Way To Fame, Which The Dull Caution Of Our Laborious Ancestors Durst Never Attempt; They Cut The Knots Of Sophistry, Which It Was Formerly The Business Of Years To Untie, Solve Difficulties By Sudden Irradiations Of Intelligence, And Comprehend Long Processes Of Argument By Immediate Intuition.

I Know Not Why Any One But A School Boy In His Declamation Would Whine Over The Commonwealth Of Rome, Which Grew Great Only By The Misery Of The Rest Of Mankind. The Romans, Like Others, As Soon As They Were Rich, Grew Corrupt; And In Their Corruption Sold The Lives And Freedoms Of Themselves And Of One Another.

Sir, He [bolingbroke] Was A Scoundrel And A Coward: A Scoundrel For Charging A Blunderbuss Against Religion And Morality; A Coward, Because He Had Not Resolution To Fire It Off Himself, But Left Half A Crown To A Beggarly Scotsman To Draw The Trigger At His Death.