We Must Take Our Friends As They

I Went To My Father's At Night. He Spoke Of Poor John [boswell's Brother] With Disgust. I Was Shocked And Said, "he's Your Son, And God Made Him." He Answered Very Harshly, "if My Sons Are Idiots, Can I Help It?

I Make It A Kind Of Pious Rule To Go To Every Funeral To Which I Am Invited, Both As I Wish To Pay A Proper Respect To The Dead, Unless Their Characters Have Been Bad, And As I Would Wish To Have The Funeral Of My Own Near Relations Or Of Myself Well Attended.

Boswell, When He Speaks Of His Life Of Johnson, Calls It My Magnum Opus, But It May More Properly Be Called His Opera, For It Is Truly A Composition Founded On A True Story, In Which There Is A Hero With A Number Of Subordinate Characters, And An Alternate Succession Of Recitative And Airs Of Various Tone And Effect, All However In Delightful Animation.

Addison Writes With The Ease Of A Gentleman. His Readers Fancy That A Wise And Accomplished Companion Is Talking To Them; So Thathe Insinuates His Sentiments And Taste Into Their Minds By An Imperceptible Influence. Johnson Writes Like A Teacher. He Dictates To His Readers As If From An Academical Chair. They Attend With Awe And Admiration; And His Precepts Are Impressed Upon Them By His Commanding Eloquence. Addison's Style, Like A Light Wine, Pleases Everybody From The First. Johnson's, Like A Liquor Of More Body, Seems Too Strong At First, But, By Degrees, Is Highly Relished.

The Man Who Stops Making New Friends Eventually Will Have None.