There Is No Wisdom In Useless And

That Is The Happiest Conversation Where There Is No Competition, No Vanity, But A Calm, Quiet Interchange Of Sentiments...

In A Man's Letters You Know, Madam, His Soul Lies Naked, His Letters Are Only The Mirror Of His Breast, Whatever Passes Within Him Is Shown Undisguised In Its Natural Process. Nothing Is Inverted, Nothing Distorted, You See Systems In Their Elements, You Discover Actions In Their Motives.

Men Who Stand In The Highest Ranks Of Society Seldom Hear Of Their Faults; If By Any Accident An Opprobrious Clamour Reaches Their Ears, Flattery Is Always At Hand To Pour In Her Opiates, To Quiet Conviction And Obtund Remorse.

Censure Is Willingly Indulged, Because It Always Implies Some Superiority: Men Please Themselves With Imagining That They Have Made A Deeper Search, Or Wider Survey Than Others, And Detected Faults And Follies Which Escape Vulgar Observation.

Truth, Such As Is Necessary To The Reputation Of Life, Is Always Found Where It Is Honestly Sought.