Whose Fault Is It If Poor Ireland

All Those Who Write Either Explicitly Or By Insinuation Against The Dignity, Freedom, And Immortality Of The Human Soul, May So Far Forth Be Justly Said To Unhinge The Principles Of Morality, And Destroy The Means Of Making Men Reasonably Virtuous.

Colour, Figure, Motion, Extension And The Like, Considered Only So Many Sensations In The Mind, Are Perfectly Known, There Being Nothing In Them Which Is Not Perceived. But If They Are Looked On As Notes Or Images, Referred To Things Or Archetypes Existing Without The Mind, Then Are We Involved All In Scepticism.

The Eye By Long Use Comes To See Even In The Darkest Cavern: And There Is No Subject So Obscure But We May Discern Some Glimpse Of Truth By Long Poring On It.

So Long As I Confine My Thoughts To My Own Ideas Divested Of Words, I Do Not See How I Can Be Easily Mistaken.

A Man Needs No Arguments To Make Him Discern And Approve What Is Beautiful: It Strikes At First Sight, And Attracts Without A Reason. And As This Beauty Is Found In The Shape And Form Of Corporeal Things, So Also Is There Analogous To It A Beauty Of Another Kind, An Order, A Symmetry, And Comeliness In The Moral World. And As The Eye Perceiveth The One, So The Mind Doth By A Certain Interior Sense Perceive The Other, Which Sense, Talent, Or Faculty, Is Ever Quickest And Purest In The Noblest Minds.