Adulterers, In The First Stages Of The

Fame Is A Good So Wholly Foreign To Our Natures That We Have No Faculty In The Soul Adapted To It, Nor Any Organ In The Body To Relish It; An Object Of Desire Placed Out Of The Possibility Of Fruition.

It Is A Celebrated Thought Of Socrates, That If All The Misfortunes Of Mankind Were Cast Into A Public Stock, In Order To Be Equally Distributed Among The Whole Species, Those Who Now Think Themselves The Most Unhappy Would Prefer The Share They Are Already Possessed Of, Before That Which Would Fall To Them By Such A Division. [as They Realise Their Problems Could Be Worse!]

The Most Violent Appetites In All Creatures Are Lust And Hunger; The First Is A Perpetual Call Upon Them To Propagate Their Kind, The Latter To Preserve Themselves.

Hope Calculates Its Scenes For A Long And Durable Life; Presses Forward To Imaginary Points Of Bliss; And Grasps At Impossibilities; And Consequently Very Often Ensnares Men Into Beggary, Ruin And Dishonor.

When I Behold A Fashionable Table Set Out In All Its Magnificence, I Fancy That I See Gouts And Dropsies, Fevers And Lethargies, With Other Innumerable Distempers Lying In Ambuscade Among The Dishes. Nature Delights In The Most Plain And Simple Diet. Every Animal But Man Keeps To One Dish. Herbs Are The Food Of This Species, Fish Of That, And Flesh Of A Third. Man Falls Upon Everything That Comes In His Way; Not The Smallest Fruit Or Excrescence Of The Earth, Scarce A Berry Or A Mushroom Can Escape Him.