The Identity That We Ascribe To Things

There Is Nothing, In Itself, Valuable Or Despicable, Desirable Or Hateful, Beautiful Or Deformed; But That These Attributes Arise From The Particular Constitution And Fabric Of Human Sentiment And Affection.

Nothing Is More Favorable To The Rise Of Politeness And Learning, Than A Number Of Neighboring And Independent States, Connected Together By Commerce And Policy.

The Free Conversation Of A Friend Is What I Would Prefer To Any Environment.

But The Most Common Species Of Love Is That Which First Arises From Beauty, And Afterwards Diffuses Itself Into Kindness And Into The Bodily Appetite. Kindness Or Esteem, And The Appetite To Generation, Are Too Remote To Unite Easily Together. The One Is, Perhaps, The Most Refined Passion Of The Soul; The Other The Most Gross And Vulgar. The Love Of Beauty Is Placed In A Just Medium Betwixt Them, And Partakes Of Both Their Natures: From Whence It Proceeds, That It Is So Singularly Fitted To Produce Both.

In All The Events Of Life, We Ought Still To Preserve Our Scepticism. If We Believe That Fire Warms, Or Water Refreshes, It Is Only Because It Costs Us Too Much Pains To Think Otherwise.