I Have Never Known A Greater Miracle,

The Dispersing And Scattering Our Names Into Many Mouths, We Call Making Them More Great.

Custom Is A Violent And Treacherous School Mistress. She, By Little And Lithe, Slyly And Unperceived, Slips In The Foot Of Her Authority; But Having By This Gentle And Humble Beginning, With The Benefit Of Time, Fixed And Established It, She Then Unmasks A Furious And Tyrannic Countenance, Against Which We Have No More The Courage Or The Power So Much As To Lift Up Our Eyes.

It Makes Me Hate Accepting Things That Are Probable When They Are Held Up Before Me As Infallibly True. I Prefer These Words Which Tone Down And Modify The Hastiness Of Our Propositions: "perhaps, In Some Sort, Some, They Say, I Think," And The Like.

People Of Our Time Are So Formed For Agitation And Ostentation That Goodness, Moderation, Equability, Constancy, And Such Quiet And Obscure Qualities Are No Longer Felt.

It Is Much More Easy To Accuse The One Sex Than To Excuse The Other.