Imagination Took The Reins, And Reason, Slow-paced,

. . . Men Seldom Risk Their Lives Where An Escape Is Without Hope Of Recompense.

No Man Is In Love When He Marries. He May Have Loved Before; I Have Even Heard He Has Sometimes Loved After: But At The Time Never. There Is Something In The Formalities Of The Matrimonial Preparations That Drive Away All The Little Cupidons.

While All The Pomp And Circumstance Of War Animated Others, It Only Saddened Me; And All Of Past Reflection, All Of Future Dread, Made The Whole Grandeur Of The Martial Scene, And All The Delusive Seduction Of Martial Music, Fill My Eyes Frequently With Tears.

How Truly Does This Journal Contain My Real And Undisguised Thoughts--i Always Write It According To The Humour I Am In, And If Astranger Was To Think It Worth Reading, How Capricious--insolent & Whimsical I Must Appear!--one Moment Flighty And Half Mad,--the Next Sad And Melancholy. No Matter! Its Truth And Simplicity Are Its Sole Recommendations.

I Am Tired To Death! Tired Of Every Thing! I Would Give The Universe For A Disposition Less Difficult To Please. Yet, After All, What Is There To Give Pleasure? When One Has Seen One Thing, One Has Seen Every Thing.