Sure Of Their Qualities And Demanding Praise,

Jarring Interests Of Themselves Create The According Music Of A Well-mixed State.

Men Would Be Angels, Angels Would Be Gods.

Nothing Can Be More Shocking And Horrid Than One Of Our Kitchens Sprinkled With Blood, And Abounding With The Cries Of Expiring Victims Or With The Limbs Of Dead Animals Scattered Or Hung Up Here And There.

Who Finds Not Providence All Good And Wise, Alike In What It Gives, And What Denies.

Therefore They Who Say Our Thoughts Are Not Our Own Because They Resemble The Ancients, May As Well Say Our Faces Are Not Our Own, Because They Are Like Our Fathers: And Indeed It Is Very Unreasonable, That People Should Expect Us To Be Scholars, And Yet Be Angry To Find Us So.