History Is But A Confused Heap Of

This Is The Day When People Reciprocally Offer, And Receive, The Kindest And The Warmest Wishes, Though, In General, Without Meaning Them On One Side, Or Believing Them On The Other. They Are Formed By The Head, In Compliance With Custom, Though Disavowed By The Heart, In Consequence Of Nature.

A Learned Parson, Rusting In His Cell At Oxford Or Cambridge, Will Reason Admirably Well Upon The Nature Of Man; Will Profoundly Analyze The Head, The Heart, The Reason, The Will, The Passions, The Senses, The Sentiments, And All Those Subdivisions Of We Know Not What ; And Yet, Unfortunately, He Knows Nothing Of Man... He Views Man As He Does Colours In Sir Isaac Newton's Prism, Where Only The Capital Ones Are Seen; But An Experienced Dyer Knows All Their Various Shades And Gradations, Together With The Result Of Their Several Mixtures.

Letters Should Be Easy And Natural, And Convey To The Persons To Whom We Send Them Just What We Should Say To The Persons If We Were With Them.

Women Have, In General, But Ne Object, Which Is Their Beauty; Upon Which, Scarce Any Flattery Is Too Gross For Them To Swallow.

An Honest Man May Really Love A Pretty Girl, But Only An Idiot Marries Her Merely Because She Is Pretty.