Indolence Is The Devil's Cushion.

Those Writers Who Lie On The Watch For Novelty Can Have Little Hope Of Greatness; For Great Things Cannot Have Escaped Former Observation.

I Would Be Loath To Speak Ill Of Any Person Who I Do Not Know Deserves It, But I Am Afraid He Is An Attorney.

In A Man's Letters You Know, Madam, His Soul Lies Naked, His Letters Are Only The Mirror Of His Breast, Whatever Passes Within Him Is Shown Undisguised In Its Natural Process. Nothing Is Inverted, Nothing Distorted, You See Systems In Their Elements, You Discover Actions In Their Motives.

Prepare For Death, If Here At Night You Roam, And Sign Your Will Before You Sup From Home.

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.