Love Is The Wisdom Of The Fool

Pleasure Is Very Seldom Found Where It Is Sought; Our Brightest Blazes Of Gladness Are Commonly Kindled By Unexpected Sparks.

Bravery Has No Place Where It Can Avail Nothing.

Most Men Think Indistinctly, And Therefore Cannot Speak With Exactness . . .

He That Writes May Be Considered As A Kind Of General Challenger, Whom Every One Has A Right To Attack; Since He Quits The Common Rank Of Life, Steps Forward Beyond The Lists, And Offers His Merit To The Public Judgement. To Commence Author Is To Claim Praise, And No Man Can Justly Aspire To Honour, But At The Hazard Of Disgrace.

He That Outlives A Wife Whom He Has Long Loved, Sees Himself Disjoined From The Only Mind That Has The Same Hopes, And Fears, And Interest; From The Only Companion With Whom He Has Shared Much Good And Evil; And With Whom He Could Set His Mind At Liberty, To Retrace The Past Or Anticipate The Future. The Continuity Of Being Is Lacerated; The Settled Course Of Sentiment And Action Is Stopped; And Life Stands Suspended And Motionless.