Life Is A Progress From Want To

I Know Not Any Crime So Great That A Man Could Contrive To Commit As Poisoning The Sources Of Eternal Truth.

Life Consists Not Of A Series Of Illustrious Actions Or Elegant Enjoyments. The Greater Part Of Our Time Passes In Compliance With Necessities, In The Performance Of Daily Duties, In The Removal Of Small Inconveniences, In The Procurement Of Petty Pleasures; And We Are Well Or Ill At Ease, As The Main Stream Of Life Glides On Smoothly, Or Is Ruffled By Small Obstacles And Frequent Interruption.

Credulity Is The Common Failing Of Inexperienced Virtue; And He Who Is Spontaneously Suspicious May Justly Be Charged With Radical Corruption.

Spite And Ill-nature Are Among The Most Expensive Luxuries In Life.

He That Condemns Himself To Compose On A Stated Day Will Often Bring To His Task Attention Dissipated, A Memory Embarrassed, An Imagination Overwhelmed, A Mind Distracted With Anxieties, A Body Languishing With Disease: He Will Labour On A Barren Topic Till It Is Too Late To Change It; Or, In The Ardour Of Invention, Diffuse His Thoughts Into Wild Exuberance, Which The Pressing Hour Of Publication Cannot Suffer Judgment To Examine Or Reduce.