Avarice Is Generally The Last Passion Of

Pity Is Not Natural To Man. Children Always Are Cruel. Savages Are Always Cruel.

The Accidental Prescriptions Of Authority, When Time Has Procured Them Veneration, Are Often Confounded With The Laws Of Nature, And Those Rules Are Supposed Coeval With Reason, Of Which The First Rise Cannot Be Discovered.

I Look Upon This As I Did Upon The Dictionary: It Is All Work, And My Inducement To It Is Not Love Or Desire Of Fame, But The Want Of Money, Which Is The Only Motive To Writing That I Know Of.

If An Author Be Supposed To Involve His Thoughts In Voluntary Obscurity, And To Obstruct, By Unnecessary Difficulties, A Mind Eager In The Pursuit Of Truth; If He Writes Not To Make Others Learned, But To Boast The Learning Which He Possesses Himself, And Wishes To Be Admired Rather Than Understood, He Counteracts The First End Of Writing, And Justly Suffers The Utmost Severity Of Censure, Or The More Afflicting Severity Of Neglect.

Was There Ever Yet Anything Written By Mere Man That Was Wished Longer By Its Readers, Excepting Don Quixote, Robinson Crusoe, And The Pilgrim's Progress?