Promise, Large Promise, Is The Soul Of

When Desperate Ills Demand A Speedy Cure, Distrust Is Cowardice, And Prudence Folly.

Piety Is The Only Proper And Adequate Relief Of Decaying Man. He That Grows Old Without Religions Hopes, As He Declines Into Imbecility, And Feels Pains And Sorrows Incessantly Crowding Upon Him, Falls Into A Gulf Of Bottomless Misery, In Which Every Reflection Must Plunge Him Deeper And Deeper.

The Power Of Punishment Is To Silence, Not To Confute.

They Who Have Already Enjoyed The Crowds And Noise Of The Great City, Know Their Desire To Return Is Little More Than The Restlessness Of A Vacant Mind, That They Are Not So Much Led By Hope As Driven By Disgust, And Wish Rather To Leave The Country Than To See The Town.

The Imitator Treads A Beaten Walk, And With All His Diligence Can Only Find A Few Flowers Or Branches Untouched By His Predecessor, The Refuse Of Contempt, Or The Omissions Of Negligence.