Riches, Perhaps, Do Not So Often Produce

I Have Protracted My Work Till Most Of Those Whom I Wished To Please Have Sunk Into The Grave, And Success And Miscarriage Are Empty Sounds: I Therefore Dismiss It With Frigid Tranquillity, Having Little To Fear Or Hope From Censure Or From Praise.

Every Man Who Attacks My Belief, Diminishes In Some Degree My Confidence In It, And Therefore Makes Me Uneasy; And I Am Angry With Him Who Makes Me Uneasy.

There Is Such A Difference Between The Pursuits Of Men In Great Cities That One Part Of The Inhabitants Lives To Little Other Purpose Than To Wonder At The Rest. Some Have Hopes And Fears, Wishes And Aversions, Which Never Enter Into The Thoughts Of Others, And Inquiry Is Laboriously Exerted To Gain That Which Those Who Possess It Are Ready To Throw Away.

It Is Generally Allowed, That No Man Ever Found The Happiness Of Possession Proportionate To That Expectation Which Incited His Desire, And Invigorated His Pursuit; Nor Has Any Man Found The Evils Of Life So Formidable In Reality, As They Were Described To Him By His Own Imagination; Every Species Of Distress Brings With It Some Peculiar Supports, Some Unforeseen Means Of Resisting, Or Powers Of Enduring.

Is Not A Patron One Who Looks With Unconcern On A Man Struggling For Life In The Water, And, When He Has Reached Ground, Encumbers Him With Help?