For Wheresoe'er I Turn My Ravish'd Eyes,

A Man Whose Extraordinary Reputation Thus Lifts Him Up To The Notice And Observation Of Mankind, Draws A Multitude Of Eyes Upon Him, That Will Narrowly Inspect Every Part Of Him.

Should The Whole Frame Of Nature Round Him Break, In Ruin And Confusion Hurled, He, Unconcerned, Would Hear The Mighty Crack, And Stand Secure Amidst A Falling World.

Hope Calculates Its Scenes For A Long And Durable Life; Presses Forward To Imaginary Points Of Bliss; And Grasps At Impossibilities; And Consequently Very Often Ensnares Men Into Beggary, Ruin And Dishonor.

A Statue Lies Hid In A Block Of Marble, And The Art Of The Statuary Only Clears Away The Superfluous Matter And Removes The Rubbish. The Figure Is In The Stone; The Sculptor Only Finds It. What Sculpture Is To A Block Of Marble, Education Is To A Human Soul. The Philosopher, The Saint, Or The Hero,--the Wise, The Good, Or The Great Man,--very Often Lies Hid And Concealed In A Plebeian, Which A Proper Education Might Have Disinterred, And Have Brought To Light.

I Have Often Thought If The Minds Of Men Were Laid Open, We Should See But Little Difference Between That Of The Wise Man And That Of The Fool. There Are Infinite Reveries, Numberless Extravagances, And A Perpetual Train Of Vanities Which Pass Through Both. The Great Difference Is, That The First Knows How To Pick And Cull His Thoughts For Conversation, By Suppressing Some, And Communicating Others; Whereas The Other Lets Them All Indifferently Fly Out In Words.