The Most Fatal Disease Of Friendship Is

Good-humor Is A State Between Gayety And Unconcern,--the Act Or Emanation Of A Mind At Leisure To Regard The Gratification Of Another.

Such Is The Common Process Of Marriage. A Youth And Maiden Exchange Meeting By Chance, Or Brought Together By Artifice, Exchange Glances, Reciprocate Civilities, Go Home, And Dream Of One Another. Having Little To Divert Attention, Or Diversify Thought, They Find Themselves Uneasy When They Are Apart, And Therefore Conclude That They Shall Be Happy Together. They Marry, And Discover What Nothing But Voluntary Blindness Had Before Concealed; They Wear Out Life In Altercations, And Charge Nature With Cruelty.

His Scorn Of The Great Is Repeated Too Often To Be Real; No Man Thinks Much Of That Which He Despises.

You Cannot Give Me An Instance Of Any Man Who Is Permitted To Lay Out His Own Time Contriving Not To Have Tedious Hours.

To Let Friendship Die Away By Negligence And Silence Is Certainly Not Wise. It Is Voluntarily To Throw Away One Of The Greatest Comforts Of The Weary Pilgrimage.