Death But Supplies The Oil For The

The Misery Of Human Life Is Made Up Of Large Masses, Each Separated From The Other By Certain Intervals. One Year The Death Of A Child; Years After, A Failure In Trade; After Another Longer Or Shorter Interval, A Daughter May Have Married Unhappily; In All But The Singularly Unfortunate, The Integral Parts That Compose The Sum-total Of The Unhappiness Of A Man's Life Are Easily Counted And Distinctly Remembered.

There Is In Every Human Countenance Either A History Or A Prophecy Which Must Sadden, Or At Least Soften Every Reflecting Observer.

Where Virtue Is, Sensibility Is The Ornament And Becoming Attire Of Virtue. On Certain Occasions It May Almost Be Said To Become Virtue. But Sensibility And All The Amiable Qualities May Likewise Become, And Too Often Have Become, The Panders Of Vice And The Instruments Of Seduction.

Man Is Distinguished From The Brute Animals In Proportion As Thought Prevails Over Sense: But In The Healthy Processes Of The Mind, A Balance Is Constantly Maintained Between The Impressions From Outward Objects And The Inward Operations Of The Intellect:--for If There Be An Overbalance In The Contemplative Faculty, Man Thereby Becomes The Creature Of Mere Meditation, And Loses His Natural Power Of Action.

When A Man Mistakes His Thoughts For Persons And Things, He Is Mad.