He That Travels In Theory Has No

The Whole World Is Put In Motion By The Wish For Riches And The Dread Of Poverty.

There Is Scarcely Any Writer Who Has Not Celebrated The Happiness Of Rural Privacy, And Delighted Himself And His Reader With The Melody Of Birds, The Whisper Of Groves, And The Murmur Of Rivulets.

Ignorance Is Mere Privation By Which Nothing Can Be Produced: It Is A Vacuity In Which The Soul Sits Motionless And Torpid For Want Of Attraction: And, Without Knowing Why, We Always Rejoice When We Learn, And Grieve When We Forget.

I Would Advise You, Sir, To Study Algebra, If You Are Not An Adept Already In It: Your Head Would Get Less Muddy, And You Will Leave Off Tormenting Your Neighbours About Paper And Packthread, While We All Live Together In A World That Is Bursting With Sin And Sorrow.

Social Sorrow Loses Half Its Pain.