A Man Used To Vicissitudes Is Not

When A Poet Mentions The Spring, We Know That The Zephyrs Are About To Whisper, That The Groves Are To Recover Their Verdure, The Linnets To Warble Forth Their Notes Of Love, And The Flocks And Herds To Frisk Over Vales Painted With Flowers: Yet, Who Is There So Insensible Of The Beauties Of Nature, So Little Delighted With The Renovation Of The World, As Not To Feel His Heart Bound At The Mention Of The Spring?

Every Cold Empirick, When His Heart Is Expanded By A Successful Experiment, Swells Into A Theorist.

Words Are But The Signs Of Ideas.

There Are Indeed, In The Present Corruption Of Mankind, Many Incitements To Forsake Truth: The Need Of Palliating Our Own Faults And The Convenience Of Imposing On The Ignorance Or Credulity Of Others So Frequently Occur; So Many Immediate Evils Are

Scarce Any Man Becomes Eminently Disagreeable But By A Departure From His Real Character, And An Attempt At Something For Which Nature Or Education Has Left Him Unqualified.