Every Man Is My Superior In That

A Frightful Dialect For The Stupid, The Pedant And Dullard Sort.

A Man's Felicity Consists Not In The Outward And Visible Blessing Of Fortune, But In The Inward And Unseen Perfections And Riches Of The Mind.

Man Is, And Was Always, A Block-head And Dullard; Much Readier To Feel And Digest, Than To Think And Consider.

In The Huge Mass Of Evil As It Rolls And Swells, There Is Ever Some Good Working Toward Deliverance And Triumph.

The Scandalous Bronze-lacquer Age Of Hungry Animalisms, Spiritual Impotences, And Mendacities, Will Have To Run Its Course, Till The Pit Follow It.