If I Hate The Sins, I Love

To Represent A Bad Thing In Its Least Offensive Light Is, Doubtless, The Most Agreeable Course For A Writer Of Fiction To Pursue; But Is It The Most Honest, Or The Safest? Is It Better To Reveal The Snares And Pitfalls Of Like To The Young And Thoughtless Traveller, Or To Cover Them With Branches And Flowers? Oh, Reader! If There Were Less Of This Delicate Concealment Of Facts--this Whispering "peace, Peace," When There Is No Peace, There Would Be Less Of Sin And Misery To The Young Of Both Sexes Who Are Left To Wring Their Bitter Knowledge From Experience.

I See That A Man Cannot Give Himself Up To Drinking Without Being Miserable One Half His Days And Mad The Other; Besides, I Like To Enjoy My Life At All Sides And Ends, Which Cannot Be Done By One That Suffers Himself To Be The Slave Of A Single Propensity.

But Smiles And Tears Are So Alike With Me, They Are Neither Of Them Confined To Any Particular Feelings: I Often Cry When I Am Happy, And Smile When I Am Sad.

I Was Sorry For Her; I Was Amazed, Disgusted At Her Heartless Vanity; I Wondered Why So Much Beauty Should Be Given To Those Who Made So Bad A Use Of It, And Denied To Some Who Would Make It A Benefit To Both Themselves And Others. But, God Knows Best, I Concluded. There Are, I Suppose, Some Men As Vain, As Selfish, And As Heartless As She Is, And, Perhaps, Such Women May Be Useful To Punish Them.

It Is Foolish To Wish For Beauty. Sensible People Never Either Desire It For Themselves Or Care About It In Others. If The Mind Be But Well Cultivated, And The Heart Well Disposed, No One Ever Cares For The Exterior.