He That Has Too Much To Do

It Is Natural For Every Man Uninstructed To Murmur At His Condition, Because, In The General Infelicity Of Life, He Feels His Own Miseries Without Knowing That They Are Common To All The Rest Of The Species; And, Therefore, Though He Will Not Be Less Sensible Of Pain By Being Told That Others Are Equally Tormented, He Will At Least Be Freed From The Temptation Of Seeking, By Perpetual Changes, That Ease Which Is No Where To Be Found, And Though His Diseases Still Continue, He Escapes The Hazard Of Exasperating It By Remedies.

There May Be Community Of Material Possessions, But There Can Never Be Community Of Love Or Esteem.

All Censure Of A Man's Self Is Oblique Praise. It Is In Order To Show How Much He Can Spare.

The Love Of Retirement Has In All Ages Adhered Closely To Those Minds Which Have Been Most Enlarged By Knowledge, Or Elevated By Genius. Those Who Enjoyed Everything Generally Supposed To Confer Happiness Have Been Forced To Seek It In The Shades Of Privacy.

Differences, We Know, Are Never So Effectually Laid Asleep As By Some Common Calamity; An Enemy Unites All To Whom He Threatens Danger.