My Dear Friend, Clear Your Mind Of

Every Man Speaks And Writes With Intent To Be Understood; And It Can Seldom Happen But He That Understands Himself, Might Convey His Notions To Another, If, Content To Be Understood, He Did Not Seek To Be Admired; But When Once He Begins To Contrive How His Sentiments May Be Received, Not With Most Ease To His Reader, But With Most Advantage To Himself, He Then Transfers His Consideration From Words To Sounds, From Sentences To Periods, And, As He Grows More Elegant, Becomes Less Intelligible.

Too Much Nicety Of Detail Disgusts The Greatest Part Of Readers, And To Throw A Multitude Of Particulars Under General Heads, And Lay Down Rules Of Extensive Comprehension, Is To Common Understandings Of Little Use.

Plenty Is The Original Cause Of Many Of Our Needs; And Even The Poverty, Which Is So Frequent And Distressful In Civilized Nations, Proceeds Often From That Change Of Manners Which Opulence Has Produced. Nature Makes Us Poor Only When We Want Necessaries; But Custom Gives The Name Of Poverty To The Want Of Superfluities.

Friendship, Like Love, Is Destroyed By Long Absence, Though It May Be Increased By Short Intermissions. What We Have Missed Long Enough To Want It, We Value More When It Is Regained; But That Which Has Been Lost Till It Is Forgotten Will Be Found At Last With Little Gladness, And With Still Less If A Substitute Has Supplied The Place.

The Animadversions Of Critics Are Commonly Such As May Easily Provoke The Sedatest Writer To Some Quickness Of Resentment And Asperity Of Reply.