How Little Has Situation To Do With

. . . Men Seldom Risk Their Lives Where An Escape Is Without Hope Of Recompense.

I Cannot Sleep - Great Joy Is As Restless As Sorrow.

I Have This Very Moment Finished Reading A Novel Called The Vicar Of Wakefield [by Oliver Goldsmith].... It Appears To Me, To Be Impossible Any Person Could Read This Book Through With A Dry Eye And Yet, I Don't Much Like It.... There Is But Very Little Story, The Plot Is Thin, The Incidents Very Rare, The Sentiments Uncommon, The Vicar Is Contented, Humble, Pious, Virtuous--but Upon The Whole The Book Has Not At All Satisfied My Expectations.

People Who Live Together Naturally Catch The Looks And Air Of One Another And Without Having One Feature Alike, They Contract A Something In The Whole Countenance Which Strikes One As A Resemblance

To Save The Mind From Preying Inwardly Upon Itself, It Must Be Encouraged To Some Outward Pursuit. There Is No Other Way To Elude Apathy, Or Escape Discontent; None Other To Guard The Temper From That Quarrel With Itself, Which Ultimately Ends In Quarreling With All Mankind.