If Pleasure Was Not Followed By Pain,

Sir, He [bolingbroke] Was A Scoundrel And A Coward: A Scoundrel For Charging A Blunderbuss Against Religion And Morality; A Coward, Because He Had Not Resolution To Fire It Off Himself, But Left Half A Crown To A Beggarly Scotsman To Draw The Trigger At His Death.

Pleasure Is Very Seldom Found Where It Is Sought. Our Brightest Blazes Of Gladness Are Commonly Kindled By Unexpected Sparks. The Flowers Which Scatter Their Odours From Time To Time In The Paths Of Life, Grow Up Without Culture From Seeds Scattered By Chance.

A Man Guilty Of Poverty Easily Believes Himself Suspected.

It Is Indeed Not Easy To Distinguish Affectation From Habit; He That Has Once Studiously Developed A Style, Rarely Writes Afterwards With Complete Ease.

A Fly, Sir, May Sting A Stately Horse And Make Him Wince; But, One Is But An Insect, And The Other Is A Horse Still.