At Seventy-seven It Is Time To Be

They Who Have Already Enjoyed The Crowds And Noise Of The Great City, Know Their Desire To Return Is Little More Than The Restlessness Of A Vacant Mind, That They Are Not So Much Led By Hope As Driven By Disgust, And Wish Rather To Leave The Country Than To See The Town.

If Lawyers Were To Undertake No Causes Till They Were Sure They Were Just, A Man Might Be Precluded Altogether From A Trial Of His Claim, Though, Were It Judicially Examined, It Might Be Found A Very Just Claim.

Being Married To Those Sleepy-souled Women Is Just Like Playing At Cards For Nothing: No Passion Is Excited And The Time Is Filled Up. I Do Not, However, Envy A Fellow One Of Those Honeysuckle Wives For My Part, As They Are But Creepers At Best And Commonly Destroy The Tree They So Tenderly Cling About.

There Will Always Be A Part, And Always A Very Large Part Of Every Community, That Have No Care But For Themselves, And Whose Care For Themselves Reaches Little Further Than Impatience Of Immediate Pain, And Eagerness For The Nearest Good.

There Is No Observation More Frequently Made By Such As Employ Themselves In Surveying The Conduct Of Mankind, Than That Marriage, Though The Dictate Of Nature, And The Institution Of Providence, Is Yet Very Often The Cause Of Misery, And That Those Who Enter Into That State Can Seldom Forbear To Express Their Repentance, And Their Envy Of Those Whom Either Chance Or Caution Hath Withheld From It.