Whatever Can Be Done Another Day Can

Praise Is Always Pleasing, Let It Come From Whom, Or Upon What Account It Will.

We Imagine Much More Appropriately An Artisan On His Toilet Seat Or On His Wife Than A Great President, Venerable By His Demeanorand His Ability. It Seems To Us That They Do Not Stoop From Their Lofty Thrones Even To Live.

We Have No Participation In Being, Because All Human Nature Is Ever Midway Between Being Born And Dying, Giving Off Only A Vague Image And Shadow Of Itself, And A Weak And Uncertain Opinion. And If You Chance To Fix Your Thoughts On Trying To Grasp Its Essence, It Would Be Neither More Nor Less Than If Your Tried To Clutch Water.

The Judgment Is An Utensil Proper For All Subjects, And Will Have An Oar In Everything.

Since We Cannot Attain Unto It, Let Us Revenge Ourselves By Railing At It; And Yet It Is Not Absolutely Railing Against Anything, To Proclaim Its Defects, Because They Are In All Things To Be Found, How Beautiful Or How Much To Be Coveted Soever.