Blest That Abode, Where Want And Pain

Quality And Title Have Such Allurements That Hundreds Are Ready To Give Up All Their Own Importance, To Cringe, To Flatter, To Look Little, And To Pall Every Pleasure In Constraint, Merely To Be Among The Great, Though Without The Least Hopes Of Improving Their Understanding Or Sharing Their Generosity. They Might Be Happier Among Their Equals.

Fine Declamation Does Not Consist In Flowery Periods, Delicate Allusions Of Musical Cadences, But In A Plain, Open, Loose Style, Where The Periods Are Long And Obvious, Where The Same Thought Is Often Exhibited In Several Points Of View.

The Person Whose Clothes Are Extremely Fine I Am Too Apt To Consider As Not Being Possessed Of Any Superiority Of Fortune, But Resembling Those Indians Who Are Found To Wear All The Gold They Have In The World In A Bob At The Nose.

For Just Experience Tells, In Every Soil, That Those That Think Must Govern Those That Toil.

What Cities, As Great As This, Have... Promised Themselves Immortality! Posterity Can Hardly Trace The Situation Of Some. The Sorrowful Traveller Wanders Over The Awful Ruins Of Others... Here Stood Their Citadel, But Now Grown Over With Weeds; There Their Senate-house, But Now The Haunt Of Every Noxious Reptile; Temples And Theatres Stood Here, Now Only An Undistinguished Heap Of Ruins.