Never Speak Of A Man In His

Disease Generally Begins That Equality Which Death Completes; The Distinctions Which Set One Man So Much Above Another Are Very Little Perceived In The Gloom Of A Sick Chamber, Where It Will Be Vain To Expect Entertainment From The Gay, Or Instruction From The Wise; Where All Human Glory Is Obliterated, The Wit Is Clouded, The Reasoner Perplexed, And The Hero Subdued; Where The Highest And Brightest Of Mortal Beings Finds Nothing Left Him But The Consciousness Of Innocence.

Reason Will By Degrees Submit To Absurdity, As The Eye Is In Time Accommodated To Darkness.

The Traveler That Resolutely Follows A Rough And Winding Path Will Sooner Reach The End Of His Journey Than He That Is Always Changing His Direction, And Wastes The Hour Of Daylight In Looking For Smoother Ground And Shorter Passages.

Every Man May Be Observed To Have A Certain Strain Of Lamentation, Some Peculiar Theme Of Complaint On Which He Dwells In His Moments Of Dejection.

The Life Of A Solitary Man Will Be Certainly Miserable, But Not Certainly Devout.