Is There Anything So Grave And Serious

All Of The Days Go Toward Death And The Last One Arrives There.

Plenty And Indigence Depend Upon The Opinion Every One Has Of Them; And Riches, Like Glory Of Health, Have No More Beauty Or Pleasure Than Their Possessor Is Pleaded To Lend Them.

He That Had Never Seen A River, Imagined The First He Met With To Be The Sea.

From Obedience And Submission Comes All Our Virtues, And All Sin Is Comes From Self-opinion.

To Divert Myself From A Troublesome Fancy, It Is But To Run To My Books; They Presently Fix Me To Them, And Drive The Other Out Of My Thoughts, And Do Not Mutiny To See That I Have Only Recourse To Them For Want Of Other More, Real, Natural, And Lively Conveniences; They Always Receive Me With The Same Kindness.