Philosophers There Are Who Try To Make

Solitude Is The Surest Nurse Of All Prurient Passions, And A Girl In The Hurry Of Preparation, Or Tumult Of Gaiety, Has Neither Inclination Nor Leisure To Let Tender Expressions Soften Or Sink Into Her Heart. The Ball, The Show, Are Not The Dangerous Places: No, 'tis The Private Friend, The Kind Consoler, The Companion Of The Easy Vacant Hour, Whose Compliance With Her Opinions Can Flatter Her Vanity, And Whose Conversation Can Sooth, Without Ever Stretching Her Mind, That Is The Lover To Be Feared: He Who Buzzes In Her Ear At Court, Or At The Opera, Must Be Contented To Buzz In Vain.

It Is True That Of Far The Greater Part Of Things, We Must Content Ourselves With Such Knowledge As Description May Exhibit, Or Analogy Supply; But It Is True Likewise, That These Ideas Are Always Incomplete, And That At Least, Till We Have Compared Them With Realities, We Do Not Know Them To Be Just. As We See More, We Become Possessed Of More Certainties, And Consequently Gain More Principles Of Reasoning, And Found A Wider Base Of Analogy.

Life Is Barren Enough Surely With All Her Trappings; Let Us Be Therefore Cautious Of How We Strip Her.

Life Is A Progress From Want To Want, Not From Enjoyment To Enjoyment.

Adversity Leads Us To Think Properly Of Our State, And So Is Most Beneficial To Us.