Oh! Blame Not The Bard.

. . . The State Of Things And The Dispositions Of Men Were Then Such, That A Man Could Not Well Tell Whom He Might Trust Or Whom He Might Fear.

One Man To Live In Pleasure And Wealth, Whiles All Other Weap And Smart For It, That Is The Part Not Of A King, But Of A Jailor.

Every Tribulation Which Ever Comes Our Way Either Is Sent To Be Medicinal, If We Will Take It As Such, Or May Become Medicinal, If We Will Make It Such, Or Is Better Than Medicinal, Unless We Forsake It.

Pride Measures Prosperity Not By Her Own Advantages But By The Disadvantages Of Others. She Would Not Even Wish To Be A Goddess Unless There Were Some Wretches Left Whom She Could Order About And Lord It Over, Whose Misery Would Make Her Happiness Seem All The More Extraordinary, Whose Poverty Can Be Tormented And Exacerbated By A Display Of Her Wealth. This Infernal Serpent, Pervading The Human Heart, Keeps Men From Reforming Their Lives, Holding Them Back Like A Suckfish.

It's Wrong To Deprive Someone Else Of A Pleasure So That You Can Enjoy One Yourself, But To Deprive Yourself Of A Pleasure So That You Can Add To Someone Else's Enjoyment Is An Act Of Humanity By Which You Always Gain More Than You Lose.