The Spring Is Generally Fertile In New

Far From Having Taken Any Positive Step, I Have Not Yet Even Fommed Any Resolution.

To Have Some Account Of My Thoughts, Manners, Acquaintance And Actions, When The Hour Arrives In Which Time Is More Nimble Than Memory, Is The Reason Which Induces Me To Keep A Journal: A Journal In Which I Must Confess My Every Thought, Must Open My Whole Heart!

I Have This Very Moment Finished Reading A Novel Called The Vicar Of Wakefield [by Oliver Goldsmith].... It Appears To Me, To Be Impossible Any Person Could Read This Book Through With A Dry Eye And Yet, I Don't Much Like It.... There Is But Very Little Story, The Plot Is Thin, The Incidents Very Rare, The Sentiments Uncommon, The Vicar Is Contented, Humble, Pious, Virtuous--but Upon The Whole The Book Has Not At All Satisfied My Expectations.

The Laws Of Custom Make Our [returning A Visit] Necessary. O How I Hate This Vile Custom Which Obliges Us To Make Slaves Of Ourselves! To Sell The Most Precious Property We Boast, Our Time;--and To Sacrifice It To Every Prattling Impertinent Who Chooses To Demand It!

There Is Something In Age That Ever, Even In Its Own Despite, Must Be Venerable, Must Create Respect And To Have It Ill Treated, Is To Me Worse, More Cruel And Wicked Than Anything On Earth