I Remember Very Well, When I Was

It Is, Indeed, At Home That Every Man Must Be Known By Those Who Would Make A Just Estimate Either Of His Virtue Or Felicity; For Smiles And Embroidery Are Alike Occasional, And The Mind Is Often Dressed For Show In Painted Honor, And Fictitious Benevolence.

Books Without The Knowledge Of Life Are Useless.

Life Is Surely Given Us For Higher Purposes Than To Gather What Our Ancestors Have Wisely Thrown Away, And To Learn What Is Of No Value But Because It Has Been Forgotten.

In The Condition Of Men, It Frequently Happens That Grief And Anxiety Lie Hid Under The Golden Robes Of Prosperity; And The Gloom Of Calamity Is Cheered By Secret Radiations Of Hope And Comfort; As In The Works Of Nature, The Bog Is Sometimes Covered With Flowers, And The Mine Concealed In The Barren Crags.

If Useless Thoughts Could Be Expelled From The Mind, All The Valuable Parts Of Our Knowledge Would More Frequently Recur.