Deviation From Nature Is Deviation From Happiness.

Genius Now And Then Produces A Lucky Trifle. We Still Read The Dove Of Anacreon, And Sparrow Of Catullus; And A Writer Naturally Pleases Himself With A Performance Which Owes Nothing To The Subject.

Life, To Be Worthy Of A Rational Being, Must Be Always In Progression; We Must Always Purpose To Do More Or Better Than In Time Past.

That Is The Happiest Conversation Where There Is No Competition, No Vanity, But A Calm, Quiet Interchange Of Sentiments...

There Are Few So Free From Vanity As Not To Dictate To Those Who Will Hear Their Instructions With A Visible Sense Of Their Own Beneficence.

The Power, Indeed, Of Every Individual Is Small, And The Consequence Of His Endeavours Imperceptible, In A General Prospect Of The World. Providence Has Given No Man Ability To Do Much, That Something Might Be Left For Every Man To Do. The Business Of Life Is Carried On By A General Co-operation; In Which The Part Of Any Single Man Can Be No More Distinguished, Than The Effect Of A Particular Drop When The Meadows Are Floated By A Summer Shower: Yet Every Drop Increases The Inundation, And Every Hand Adds To The Happiness Or Misery Of Mankind.