The Only Thing One Can Do One

Not To Be Miserable Is All Some People Are Capable Of.

I Often Think That Those People Are The Happiest Who Know Nothing At All Of The World, And Sitting In The Little Empire Of The Fireside, Where There Is No Contention Or Cabal, Think We Are In A Golden Age Of Existance.

To Judge Therefore Of Shakespeare By Aristotle's Rule Is Like Trying A Man By The Laws Of One Country Who Acted Under Those Of Another.

Among Many Reasons For Being Stupid It May Be Urged, It Is Being Like Other People, And Living Like One's Neighbours, And Indeed Without It, It May Be Difficult To Love Some Neighbours As Oneself: Now Seeing The Necessity Of Being Dull, You Won't, I Hope, Take It Amiss That You Find Me So.

Our Collection Of Men Is Very Antique, They Stand In My List Thus: A Man Of Sense, A Little Rusty, A Beau A Good Deal The Worse For Wearing, A Coxcomb Extremely Shattered, A Pretty Gentleman Very Insipid, A Baronet Very Solemn, A Squire Very Fat, A Fop Much Affected, A Barrister Learned In Coke Upon Littleton, But Who Knows Nothing Of `long Ways For Marry As Will', An Heir Apparent, Very Awkward; Which Of These Will Cast A Favourable Eye Upon Me I Don't Know.