My Dear Friend, Clear Your Mind Of

Man Is A Transitory Being, And His Designs Must Partake Of The Imperfections Their Author.

The Fiction Of Happiness Is Propagated By Every Tongue And Confirmed By Every Look Till At Last All Profess The Joy Which They Do Not Feel And Consent To Yield To The General Delusion.

No Wise Man Will Go To Live In The Country, Unless He Has Something To Do Which Can Be Better Done In The Country. For Instance, If He Is To Shut Himself Up For A Year To Study Science, It Is Better To Look Out To The Fields, Than To An Opposite Wall. Then, If A Man Walks Out In The Country, There Is Nobody To Keep Him From Walking In Again: But If A Man Walks Out In London, He Is Not Sure When He Will Walk In Again. A Great City Is, To Be Sure, The School For Studying Life.

As Any Action Or Posture, Long Continued, Will Distort And Disfigure The Limbs, So The Mind Likewise Is Crippled And Contracted By Perpetual Application To The Same Set Of Ideas.

Condemned To Hope's Delusive Mine, As On We Toil From Day To Day, By Sudden Blasts Or Slow Decline Our Social Comforts Drop Away.