The French Have A Saying That Whatever

To Cure Us Of Our Immoderate Love Of Gain, We Should Seriously Consider How Many Goods There Are That Money Will Not Purchase, And These The Best; And How Many Evils There Are That Money Will Not Remedy, And These The Worst.

Sensibility Would Be A Good Portress If She Had But One Hand; With Her Right She Opens The Door To Pleasure, But With Her Left To Pain.

When Young, We Trust Ourselves Too Much, And We Trust Others Too Little When Old. Rashness Is The Error Of Youth, Timid Caution Of Age. Manhood Is The Isthmus Between The Two Extremes; The Ripe And Fertile Season Of Action, When Alone We Can Hope To Find The Head To Contrive, United With The Hand To Execute.

It Is With Antiquity As With Ancestry, Nations Are Proud Of The One, And Individuals Of The Other; But If They Are Nothing In Themselves, That Which Is Their Pride Ought To Be Their Humiliation.

Adroit Observers Will Find That Some Who Affect To Dislike Flattery, May Yet Be Flattered Indirectly, By A Well Seasoned Abuse And Ridicule Of Their Rivals.