T Is The Divinity That Stirs Within

A Man Whose Extraordinary Reputation Thus Lifts Him Up To The Notice And Observation Of Mankind, Draws A Multitude Of Eyes Upon Him, That Will Narrowly Inspect Every Part Of Him.

The Ways Of Heaven Are Dark And Intricate, Puzzled In Mazes, And Perplex'd With Errors; Our Understanding Traces Them In Vain, Lost And Bewilder'd In The Fruitless Search; Nor Sees With How Much Art The Windings Run, Nor Where The Regular Confusion Ends.

In That Disputable Point Of Persecuting Men For Conscience Sake, I See Such Dreadful Consequences Rising, I Would Be As Fully Convinced Of The Truth Of It, As A Mathematical Demonstration, Before I Would Venture To Act Upon It Or Make It A Part Of My Religion.

I Have Often Thought If The Minds Of Men Were Laid Open, We Should See But Little Difference Between That Of The Wise Man And That Of The Fool. There Are Infinite Reveries, Numberless Extravagances, And A Perpetual Train Of Vanities Which Pass Through Both. The Great Difference Is, That The First Knows How To Pick And Cull His Thoughts For Conversation, By Suppressing Some, And Communicating Others; Whereas The Other Lets Them All Indifferently Fly Out In Words.

There Is Not A More Unhappy Being Than A Superannuated Idol.