I Pass By That It Is Very

The Proper Work Of Man, The Grand Drift Of Human Life, Is To Follow Reason, That Noble Spark Kindled In Us From Heaven.

He Who Loveth A Book Will Never Want A Faithful Friend, A Wholesome Counsellor, A Cheerful Companion, Or An Effectual Comforter.

No Man Speaketh, Or Should Speak, Of His Prince, That Which He Hath Not Weighed Whether It Will Consist With That Veneration Which Should Be Preserved Inviolate To Him.

It Consisteth In One Knows Not What, And Springeth Up One Can Hardly Tell How. Its Ways Are Unaccountable And Inexplicable, Being Answerable To The Numberless Rovings Of Fancy And Windings Of Language.

I Pass By That It Is Very Culpable To Be Facetious In Obscene And Smutty Matters.