Nothing Is So Firmly Believed As What

But The Touch Or Company Of Any Man Whatsoever Stirreth Up Their Heat, Which In Their Solitude Was Hushed And Quiet, And Lay As Cinders Raked Up In Ashes.

I Do Not Portray The Thing In Itself. I Portray The Passage; Not A Passing From One Age To Another, Or, As The People Put It, From Seven Years To Seven Years, But From Day To Day, From Minute To Minute.

Custom Is A Second Nature, And No Less Powerful.

Scratching Is One Of Nature's Sweetest Gratifications, And Nearest At Hand.

It Is Commonly Seene By Experience, That Excellent Memories Do Rather Accompany Weake Judgements.