It Requires No Small Degree Of Ability

When Our Hatred Is Too Alive Puts Us Below What We Hate.

People That Are Conceited Of Their Own Merit Take Pride In Being Unfortunate, That Themselves And Others May Think Them Considerable Enough To Be The Envy And The Mark Of Fortune.

The Truest Comparison We Can Make Of Love Is To Liken It To A Fever; We Have No More Power Over The One Than The Other, Either As To Its Violence Or Duration.

We Often Boast That We Are Never Bored; But Yet We Are So Conceited That We Do Not Perceive How Often We Bore Others.

Our Distrust Of Another Justifies His Deceit.