This World, Where Much Is To Be

That The Happiness Of Man May Still Remain Imperfect, As Wants In This Place Are Easily Supplied, New Wants Likewise Are Easily Created; Every Man, In Surveying The Shops Of London, Sees Numberless Instruments And Conveniencies, Of Which, While He Did Not Know Them, He Never Felt The Need; And Yet, When Use Has Made Them Familiar, Wonders How Life Could Be Supported Without Them. Thus It Comes To Pass, That Our Desires Always Increase With Our Possessions; The Knowledge That Something Remains Yet Unenjoyed, Impairs Our Enjoyment Of The Good Before Us.

It Is True That Of Far The Greater Part Of Things, We Must Content Ourselves With Such Knowledge As Description May Exhibit, Or Analogy Supply; But It Is True Likewise, That These Ideas Are Always Incomplete, And That At Least, Till We Have Compared Them With Realities, We Do Not Know Them To Be Just. As We See More, We Become Possessed Of More Certainties, And Consequently Gain More Principles Of Reasoning, And Found A Wider Base Of Analogy.

There Are Occasions On Which All Apology Is Rudeness.

Ignorance, When It Is Voluntary, Is Criminal.

It Is Natural For Every Man Uninstructed To Murmur At His Condition, Because, In The General Infelicity Of Life, He Feels His Own Miseries Without Knowing That They Are Common To All The Rest Of The Species; And, Therefore, Though He Will Not Be Less Sensible Of Pain By Being Told That Others Are Equally Tormented, He Will At Least Be Freed From The Temptation Of Seeking, By Perpetual Changes, That Ease Which Is No Where To Be Found, And Though His Diseases Still Continue, He Escapes The Hazard Of Exasperating It By Remedies.