Words Are Daughters Of Earth But Ideas

In The Condition Of Men, It Frequently Happens That Grief And Anxiety Lie Hid Under The Golden Robes Of Prosperity; And The Gloom Of Calamity Is Cheered By Secret Radiations Of Hope And Comfort; As In The Works Of Nature, The Bog Is Sometimes Covered With Flowers, And The Mine Concealed In The Barren Crags.

All Censure Of A Man's Self Is Oblique Praise. It Is In Order To Show How Much He Can Spare.

Friendship, Like Love, Is Destroyed By Long Absence, Though It May Be Increased By Short Intermissions.

There Is Something In Obstinacy Which Differs From Every Other Passion. Whenever It Fails, It Never Recovers, But Either Breaks Like Iron, Or Crumbles Sulkily Away, Like A Fractured Arch. Most Other Passions Have Their Periods Of Fatigue And Rest, Their Sufferings And Their Cure; But Obstinacy Has No Resource, And The First Wound Is Mortal.

The Student Who Would Build His Knowledge On Solid Foundations, And Proceed By Just Degrees To The Pinnacles Of Truth, Is Directed By The Great Philosopher Of France To Begin By Doubting Of His Own Existence. In Like Manner, Whoever Would Complete Any Arduous And Intricate Enterprise, Should, As Soon As His Imagination Can Cool After The First Blaze Of Hope, Place Before His Own Eyes Every Possible Embarrassment That May Retard Or Defeat Him. He Should First Question The Probability Of Success, And Then Endeavour To Remove The Objections That He Has Raised.