I Have Tried If I Could Reach

Yes, Even Amongst Wiser Militants, How Many Wounds Have Been Given, And Credits Slain, For The Poor Victory Of An Opinion, Or Beggarly Conquest Of A Distinction.

Who Knows Whether The Best Of Men Be Known? Or Whether There Be Not More Remarkable Persons Forgot, Than Any That Stand Remembered In The Known Account Of Time?

It Is We That Are Blind, Not Fortune; Because Our Eye Is Too Dim To Discern The Mystery Of Her Effects, We Foolishly Paint Her Blind, And Hoodwink The Providence Of The Almighty.

I Could Be Content That We Might Procreate Like Trees, Without Conjunction, Or That We Were Any Way To Perpetuate The World Without This Trivial And Vulgar Way Of Coition; It Is The Foolishest Act A Wise Man Commits In All His Life.

I Could Never Divide Myself From Any Man Upon The Difference Of An Opinion, Or Be Angry With His Judgment For Not Agreeing With Me In That From Which Perhaps Within A Few Days I Should Dissent Myself.