Every Cold Empirick, When His Heart Is

A Man Had Rather Have A Hundred Lies Told Of Him Than One Truth Which He Does Not Wish Should Be Told.

Admiration Begins Where Acquaintance Ceases

The Prosperity Of A People Is Proportionate To The Number Of Hands And Minds Usefully Employed. To The Community, Sedition Is A Fever, Corruption Is A Gangrene, And Idleness Is An Atrophy. Whatever Body Or Society Wastes More Than It Acquires, Must Gradually Decay, And Every Being That Continues To Be Fed, And Eases To Labor, Takes Away Something From The Public Stock.

Every Man Is Of Importance To Himself, And, Therefore, In His Own Opinion, To Others; And, Supposing The World Already Acquainted With His Pleasures And His Pains, Is Perhaps The First To Publish Injuries Or Misfortunes Which Had Never Been Known Unless Related By Himself, And At Which Those That Hear Them Will Only Laugh, For No Man Sympathises With The Sorrows Of Vanity.

Solitude Is The Surest Nurse Of All Prurient Passions, And A Girl In The Hurry Of Preparation, Or Tumult Of Gaiety, Has Neither Inclination Nor Leisure To Let Tender Expressions Soften Or Sink Into Her Heart. The Ball, The Show, Are Not The Dangerous Places: No, 'tis The Private Friend, The Kind Consoler, The Companion Of The Easy Vacant Hour, Whose Compliance With Her Opinions Can Flatter Her Vanity, And Whose Conversation Can Sooth, Without Ever Stretching Her Mind, That Is The Lover To Be Feared: He Who Buzzes In Her Ear At Court, Or At The Opera, Must Be Contented To Buzz In Vain.