It Is Harder To Avoid Censure Than

I Am Apt To Suspect The Negroes To Be Naturally Inferior To The Whites. There Scarcely Ever Was A Civilization Of Their Complexion, Nor Even Any Individual, Eminent Either In Action Or Speculation.

But The Most Common Species Of Love Is That Which First Arises From Beauty, And Afterwards Diffuses Itself Into Kindness And Into The Bodily Appetite. Kindness Or Esteem, And The Appetite To Generation, Are Too Remote To Unite Easily Together. The One Is, Perhaps, The Most Refined Passion Of The Soul; The Other The Most Gross And Vulgar. The Love Of Beauty Is Placed In A Just Medium Betwixt Them, And Partakes Of Both Their Natures: From Whence It Proceeds, That It Is So Singularly Fitted To Produce Both.

In All The Events Of Life, We Ought Still To Preserve Our Scepticism. If We Believe That Fire Warms, Or Water Refreshes, It Is Only Because It Costs Us Too Much Pains To Think Otherwise.

Were A Man, Whom I Know To Be Honest And Opulent, And With Whom I Live In Intimate Friendship, To Come Into My House, Where I Am Surrounded With My Servants, I Rest Assured, That He Is Not To Stab Me Before He Leaves It, In Order To Rob Me Of My Silver Standish; And I No More Suspect This Event, Than The Falling Of The House Itself Which Is New, And Solidly Built And Founded.--but He May Have Been Seized With A Sudden And Unknown Frenzy.--so May A Sudden Earthquake Arise, And Shake And Tumble My House About My Ears.

All Knowledge Degenerates Into Probability.