The Grave Is A Common Treasury, To

No Passion So Effectually Robs The Mind Of All Its Powers Of Acting And Reasoning As Fear.

Nothing, Indeed, But The Possession Of Some Power Can With Any Certainty Discover What At The Bottom Is The True Character Of Any Man.

I Cannot Stand Forward, And Give Praise Or Blame To Any Thing Which Relates To Human Actions, And Human Concerns, On A Simple View Of The Subject As It Stands Stripped Of Every Relation, In All The Nakedness And Solitude Of Metaphysical Abstraction. Circumstances (which With Some Gentlemen Pass For Nothing) Give In Reality To Every Political Principle Its Distinguishing Colour, And Discriminating Effect. The Circumstances Are What Render Every Civil And Political Scheme Beneficial Or Noxious To Mankind.

Water And Oil, Simply Considered, Are Capable Of Giving Some Pleasure To The Taste. Water, When Simple, Is Insipid, Inodorous, Colorless, And Smooth; It Is Found, When Not Cold, To Be A Great Resolver Of Spasms, And Lubricator Of The Fibres; This Power It Probably Owes To Its Smoothness.

Good Company, Lively Conversation, And The Endearments Of Friendship Fill The Mind With Great Pleasure.