Self-love Is A Busy Prompter.

No Man Is Much Regarded By The Rest Of The World. He That Considers How Little He Dwells Upon The Condition Of Others, Will Learn How Little The Attention Of Others Is Attracted By Himself. While We See Multitudes Passing Before Us, Of Whom Perhaps Not One Appears To Deserve Our Notice Or Excites Our Sympathy, We Should Remember, That We Likewise Are Lost In The Same Throng, That The Eye Which Happens To Glance Upon Us Is Turned In A Moment On Him That Follows Us, And That The Utmost Which We Can Reasonably Hope Or Fear Is To Fill A Vacant Hour With Prattle, And Be Forgotten.

Among The Numerous Stratagems By Which Pride Endeavors To Recommend Folly To Regard, There Is Scarcely One That Meets With Less Success Than Affectation, Or A Perpetual Disguise Of The Real Character By Fictitious Appearances.

A Successful Author Is Equally In Danger Of The Diminution Of His Fame, Whether He Continues Or Ceases To Write. The Regard Of The Public Is Not To Be Kept But By Tribute, And The Remembrance Of Past Service Will Quickly Languish Unless Successive Performances Frequently Revive It. Yet In Every New Attempt There Is New Hazard, And There Are Few Who Do Not, At Some Unlucky Time, Injure Their Own Characters By Attempting To Enlarge Them.

There Is Nothing More Dreadful To An Author Than Neglect; Compared With Which Reproach, Hatred, And Opposition Are Names Of Happiness; Yet This Worst, This Meanest Fate, Every One Who Dares To Write Has Reason To Fear.

It Is Justly Considered As The Greatest Excellency Of Art To Imitate Nature; But It Is Necessary To Distinguish Those Parts Of Nature Which Are Most Proper For Imitation: Greater Care Is Still Required In Representing Life, Which Is So Often Discoloured By Passion Or Deformed By Wickedness. If The World Be Promiscuously Described, I Cannot See Of What Use It Can Be To Read The Account; Or Why It May Not Be As Safe To Turn The Eye Immediately Upon Mankind, As Upon A Mirror Which Shows All That Presents Itself Without Discrimination.