I Would Consent To Have A Limb

While An Author Is Yet Living, We Estimate His Powers By His Worst Performance; And When He Is Dead, We Rate Him By His Best.

He That Fails In His Endeavors After Wealth Or Power Will Not Long Retain Either Honesty Or Courage.

Beauty, Without Kindness, Dies Unenjoyed And Undelighting.

The Misery Of Man Proceeds Not From Any Single Crush Of Overwhelming Evil, But From Small Vexations Continually Repeated.

Distance Either Of Time Or Place Is Sufficient To Reconcile Weak Minds To Wonderful Relations.