It Is Not The End Of Joy

Recollection Is The Only Paradise From Which We Cannot Be Turned Out.

Joy Descends Gently Upon Us Like The Evening Dew, And Does Not Patter Down Like A Hailstorm.

The End We Aim At Must Be Known, Before The Way Can Be Made.

Variety Of Mere Nothings Gives More Pleasure Than Uniformity Of Something.

It Is Easy To Flatter; It Is Harder To Praise.