Every Man Has Something To

Sir, He Throws Away His Money Without Thought And Without Merit. I Do Not Call A Tree Generous That Sheds Its Fruit At Every Breeze.

No Man Reads A Book Of Science From Pure Inclination. The Books That We Do Read With Pleasure Are Light Compositions, Which Contain A Quick Succession Of Events.

At Length Weariness Succeeds To Labor, And The Mind Lies At Ease In The Contemplation Of Her Own Attainments Without Any Desire Of New Conquests Or Excursions. This Is The Age Of Recollection And Narrative; The Opinions Are Settled, And The Avenues Of Apprehension Shut Against Any New Intelligence; The Days That Are To Follow Must Pass In The Inculcation Of Precepts Already Collected, And Assertion Of Tenets Already Received; Nothing Is Henceforward So Odious As Opposition, So Insolent As Doubt, Or So Dangerous As Novelty.

Avarice Is A Uniform And Tractable Vice; Other Intellectual Distempers Are Different In Different Constitutions Of Mind. That Which Soothes The Pride Of One Will Offend The Pride Of Another, But To The Favor Of The Covetous Bring Money, And Nothing Is Denied.

Among The Lower Classes Of Mankind There Will Be Found Very Little Desire Of Any Other Knowledge Than What May Contribute Immediately To The Relief Of Some Pressing Uneasiness, Or The Attainment Of Some Near Advantage.