The Richest Author That Ever Grazed The

There Are Some Works Which The Authors Must Consign Unpublished To Posterity, However Uncertain Be The Event, However Hopeless Be The Trust. He That Writes The History Of His Own Times, If He Adhere Steadily To Truth, Will Write That Which His Own Times Will Not Easily Endure. He Must Be Content To Reposite His Book Till All Private Passions Shall Cease, And Love And Hatred Give Way To Curiosity.

We Frequently Fall Into Error And Folly, Not Because The True Principles Of Action Are Not Known, But Because For A Time They Are Not Remembered; He May, Therefore, Justly Be Numbered Among The Benefactors Of Mankind Who Contracts The Great Rules Of Life Into Short Sentences That May Early Be Impressed On The Memory, And Taught By Frequent Recollection To Occur Habitually To The Mind.

Consultation And Compliance Can Conduce Little To The Perfection Of Any Literary Performance; For Whoever Is So Doubtful Of His Own Abilities As To Encourage The Remarks Of Others, Will Find Himself Every Day Embarrassed With New Difficulties, And Will Harass His Mind, In Vain, With The Hopeless Labour Of Uniting Heterogeneous Ideas, Digesting Independent Hints, And Collecting Into One Point The Several Rays Of Borrowed Light, Emitted Often With Contrary Directions.

Superfluous Lags The Veteran On The Stage, Till Pitying Nature Signs The Last Release, And Bids Afflicted Worth Retire To Peace.

It Is Astonishing That Any Man Can Forbear Enquiring Seriously Whether There Is A God; Whether God Is Just; Whether This Life Is The Only State Of Existence.