When We Read, We Fancy We Could

My Retirement Was Now Become Solitude; The Former Is, I Believe, The Best State For The Mind Of Man, The Latter Almost The Worst. In Complete Solitude, The Eye Wants Objects, The Heart Wants Attachments, The Understanding Wants Reciprocation. The Character Loses Its Tenderness When It Has Nothing To Strengthen It, Its Sweetness When It Has Nothing To Soothe It.

The Sober Comfort, All The Peace Which Springs From The Large Aggregate Of Little Things.

He Who Has Once Taken To Drink Can Seldom Be Said To Be Guilty Of One Sin Only.

When Thou Hast Truly Thanked The Lord For Every Blessing Sent, But Little Time Will Then Remain For Murmur Or Lament.

Luxury! More Perilous To Youth Than Storms Or Quicksand, Poverty Or Chains.