To Do Something Is In Every Man's

Some Read For Style, And Some For Argument: One Has Little Care About The Sentiment, He Observes Only How It Is Expressed; Another Regards Not The Conclusion, But Is Diligent To Mark How It Is Inferred; They Read For Other Purposes Than The Attainment Of Practical Knowledge; And Are No More Likely To Grow Wise By An Examination Of A Treatise Of Moral Prudence, Than An Architect To Inflame His Devotion By Considering Attentively The Proportions Of A Temple.

The Business Of The Biographer Is Often To Pass Slightly Over Those Performances And Incidents Which Produce Vulgar Greatness, To Lead The Thoughts Into Domestic Privacies, And Display The Minute Details Of Daily Life, Were Exterior Appendages Are Cast Aside, And Men Excel Each Other Only By Prudence And Virtue.

There Is No Temper More Unpropitious To Interest Than Desultory Application And Unlimited Inquiry, By Which The Desires Are Held In A Perpetual Equipoise, And The Mind Fluctuates Between Different Purposes Without Determination.

There Is Nothing Which Has Yet Been Contrived By Man, By Which So Much Happiness Is Produced As By A Good Tavern.

Among The Calamities Of War May Be Numbered The Diminution Of The Love Of Truth, By The Falsehoods Which Interest Dictates, And Credulity Encourages.