You Do Not Believe, You Only Believe

It Is Saying Less Than The Truth To Affirm That An Excellent Book (and The Remark Holds Almost Equally Good Of A Raphael As Of A Milton) Is Like A Well-chosen And Well-tended Fruit Tree. Its Fruits Are Not Of One Season Only. With The Due And Natural Intervals, We May Recur To It Year After Year, And It Will Supply The Same Nourishment And The Same Gratification, If Only We Ourselves Return To It With The Same Healthful Appetite.

The Paternal And Filial Duties Discipline The Heart, And Prepare It For The Love Of All Mankind. The Intensity Of Private Attachment Encourages, Not Prevents, Universal Benevolence.

All Thoughts, All Passions, All Delights Whatever Stirs This Mortal Frame All Are But Ministers Of Love And Feed His Sacred Flame.

And What If All Of Animated Nature Be But Organic Harps Diversely Framed, That Tremble Into Thought, As O'er Them Sweeps, Plastic And Vast, One Intellectual Breeze, At Once The Soul Of Each, And God Of All?

A Maxim Is A Conclusion Upon Observation Of Matters Of Fact, And Is Merely Speculative; A "principle" Carries Knowledge Within Itself, And Is Prospective.