Wit Is The Fruitful Womb Where Thoughts

As For Women That Do Not Think Their Own Safety Worth Their Thought, That Impatient Of Their Present State, Resolve As They Call It To Take The First Good Christian That Comes; That Runs Into Matrimony, As A Horse Rushes Into Battle; I Can Say Nothing To Them, But This, That They Are A Sort Of Ladies That Are To Be Pray'd For Among The Rest Of Distemper'd People; And To Me They Look Like People That Venture Their Whole Estates In A Lottery Where There Is A Hundred Thousand Blanks To One Prize.

He That Opposes His Own Judgment Against The Consent Of The Times Ought To Be Backed With Unanswerable Truths; And He That Has Truth On His Side Is A Fool As Well As A Coward If He Is Afraid To Own It Because Of Other Men's Opinions.

Abused Prosperity Is Oftentimes Made The Very Means Of Our Greatest Adversity.

I Could Not Forbear Getting Up To The Top Of A Little Mountain, And Looking Out To Sea, In Hopes Of Seeing A Ship : Then Fancy That, At A Vast Distance, I Spied A Sail, Please Myself With The Hopes Of It, And, After Looking Steadily, Till I Was Almost Blind, Lose It Quite, And Sit Down And Weep Like A Child, And Thus Increase My Misery By My Folly.

So Possible Is It For Us To Roll Ourselves Up In Wickedness, Till We Grow Invulnerable By Conscience; And That Sentinel, Once Dozed, Sleeps Fast, Not To Be Awakened While The Tide Of Pleasure Continues To Flow Or Till Something Dark And Dreadful Brings Us To Ourselves Again.