His Virtues Walked Their Narrow Round, Nor

The Mind Is Never Satisfied With The Objects Immediately Before It, But Is Always Breaking Away From The Present Moment, And Losing Itself In Schemes Of Future Felicity... The Natural Flights Of The Human Mind Are Not From Pleasure To Pleasure, But From Hope To Hope.

Ye Who Listen With Credulity To The Whispers Of Fancy, And Pursue With Eagerness The Phantoms Of Hope; Who Expect That Age Will Perform The Promises Of Youth, And That The Deficiencies Of The Present Day Will Be Supplied By The Morrow, - Attend To The History Of Rasselas, Prince Of Abyssinia.

The Misery Of Man Proceeds Not From Any Single Crush Of Overwhelming Evil, But From Small Vexations Continually Repeated.

Governors Being Accustomed To Hear Of More Crimes Than They Can Punish, And More Wrongs Than They Can Redress, Set Themselves At Ease By Indiscriminate Negligence, And Presently Forget The Request When They Lose Sight Of The Petitioner.

Once A Coxcomb, Always A Coxcomb.