Sin Writes Histories, Goodness Is Silent. [ger.,

My Days Are As Happy As Those Reserved By God For His Elect; And Whatever Be My Fate Hereafter, I Can Never Say That I Have Not Tasted Joy— The Purest Joy Of Life.

He Who Does Not See The Whole World In His Friends, Does Not Deserve That The World Should Hear Of Him.

He Who Only Tastes His Error Will Long Dwell With It, Will Take Delight In It As In A Singular Felicity; While He Who Drains It To The Dregs Will, If He Be Not Crazy, Find It To Be What It Is.

It Is A Very Hard And Troublesome Thing To Dispose Of Whole, Half, And Quarter-mistakes; To Sift Them And Assign The Portion Of Truth To Its Proper Place.

Every Decided Colour Does A Certain Violence To The Eye, And Forces The Organ To Opposition.