The Very Pink Of Perfection.

Whatever Mitigates The Woes, Or Increases The Happiness Of Others, Is A Just Criterion Of Goodness; And Whatever Injures Society At Large, Or Any Individual In It, Is A Criterion Of Iniquity.

The More Various Our Artificial Necessities, The Wider Is Our Circle Of Pleasure; For All Pleasure Consists In Obviating Necessities As They Rise; Luxury, Therefore, As It Increases Our Wants, Increases Our Capacity For Happiness

There Is Yet A Silent Agony In Which The Mind Appears To Disdain All External Help, And Broods Over Its Distresses With Gloomy Reserve. This Is The Most Dangerous State Of Mind; Accidents Or Friendships May Lessen The Louder Kinds Of Grief, But All Remedies For This Must Be Had From Within, And There Despair Too Often Finds The Most Deadly Enemy.

Friendship Is A Disinterested Commerce Between Equals; Love, An Abject Intercourse Between Tyrants And Slaves.

I Have Visited Many Countries, And Have Been In Cities Without Number, Yet Never Did I Enter A Town Which Could Not Produce Ten Or Twelve Little Great Men; All Fancying Themselves Known To The Rest Of The World, And Complimenting Each Other Upon Their Extensive Reputation.