The Great And Glorious Masterpiece Of Humanity

Oh, What A Valiant Faculty Is Hope, That In A Mortal Subject, And In A Moment, Makes Nothing Of Usurping Infinity, Immensity, Eternity, And Of Supplying Its Masters Indigence, At Its Pleasure, With All Things He Can Imagine Or Desire!

When I Am Attached By Gloomy Thoughts, Nothing Helps Me So Much As Running To My Books. They Quickly Absorb Me And Banish The Clouds From My Mind.

Man (in Good Earnest) Is A Marvellous Vain, Fickle, And Unstable Subject, And On Whom It Is Very Hard To Form Any Certain And Uniform Judgment.

It Is A Sign Of Contraction Of The Mind When It Is Content, Or Of Weariness. A Spirited Mind Never Stops Within Itself; It Is Always Aspiring And Going Beyond Its Strength.

I Enter Into Discussion And Argument With Great Freedom And Ease, Inasmuch As Opinion Finds Me In A Bad Soil To Penetrate And Take Deep Root In. No Propositions Astonish Me, No Belief Offends Me, Whatever Contrast It Offers To My Own. There Is No Fancy So Frivolous And So Extravagant That It Does Not Seem To Me Quite Suitable To The Production Of The Human Mind.