Our Aspirations Are Our Possibilities.

An Italian Philosopher Said That "time Was His Estate"; An Estate Indeed Which Will Produce Nothing Without Cultivation, But Will Always Abundantly Repay The Labors Of Industry, And Generally Satisfy The Most Extensive Desires, If No Part Of It Be Suffered To Lie In Waste By Negligence, To Be Overrun With Noxious Plants, Or Laid Out For Show Rather Than For Use.

The Worst Evils Are Those That Never Arrive.

He That Floats Lazily Down The Stream, In Pursuit Of Something Borne Along By The Same Current, Will Find Himself Indeed Moved Forward; But Unless He Lays His Hand To The Oar, And Increases His Speed By His Own Labour, Must Be Always At The Same Distance From That Which He Is Following.

A Writer Who Obtains His Full Purpose Loses Himself In His Own Lustre.

I Have Always Considered It As Treason Against The Great Republic Of Human Nature, To Make Any Man's Virtues The Means Of Deceiving Him.