Cunning Is Only The Mimic

We Are Growing Serious, And, Let Me Tell You, That's The Very Next Step To Being Dull.

I Think I May Define Taste To Be That Faculty Of The Soul Which Discerns The Beauties Of An Author With Pleasure, And The Imperfections With Dislike.

Physic, For The Most Part, Is Nothing Else But The Substitute Of Exercise And Temperance.

Men Of Warm Imaginations And Towering Thoughts Are Apt To Overlook The Goods Of Fortune Which Are Near Them, For Something That Glitters In The Sight At A Distance; To Neglect Solid And Substantial Happiness For What Is Showy And Superficial; And To Contemn That Good Which Lies Within Their Reach, For That Which They Are Not Capable Of Attaining. Hope Calculates Its Schemes For A Long And Durable Life; Presses Forward To Imaginary Points Of Bliss; Grasps At Impossibilities; And Consequently Very Often Ensnares Men Into Beggary, Ruin, And Dishonour.

Everything That Is New Or Uncommon Raises A Pleasure In The Imagination, Because It Fills The Soul With An Agreeable Surprise, Gratifies Its Curiosity, And Gives It An Idea Of Which It Was Not Before Possessed.