Content Thyself To Be Obscurely Good.

In My Lucia's Absence Life Hangs Upon Me, And Becomes A Burden; I Am Ten Times Undone, While Hope, And Fear, And Grief, And Rage And Love Rise Up At Once, And With Variety Of Pain Distract Me.

There Is Sometimes A Greater Judgement Shewn In Deviating From The Rules Of Art, Than In Adhering To Them; And?there Ismore Beauty Inthe Works Of A Great Genius Who Is Ignorant Of All The Rules Of Art, Than In The Works Of A Little Genius, Who Not Only Knows But Scrupulously Observes Them.

When I Read The Several Dates Of The Tombs, Of Some That Died Yesterday, And Some Six Hundred Years Ago, I Consider That Great Day When We Shall All Of Us Be Contemporaries, And Make Our Appearance Together.

One Hope No Sooner Dies In Us But Another Rises Up In Its Stead. We Are Apt To Fancy That We Shall Be Happy And Satisfied If We Possess Ourselves Of Such And Such Particular Enjoyments; But Either By Reason Of Their Emptiness, Or The Natural Inquietude Of The Mind, We Have No Sooner Gained One Point, But We Extend Our Hopes To Another. We Still Find New Inviting Scenes And Landscapes Lying Behind Those Which At A Distance Terminated Our View.

All Of Heaven We Have Below.