He Who Aspires To Be

To Be Prejudiced Is Always To Be Weak

Sorrow Is A Kind Of Rust Of The Soul, Which Every New Idea Contributes In Its Passage To Scour Away. It Is The Putrefaction Of Stagnant Life, And Is Remedied By Exercise And Motion.

There Lurks, Perhaps, In Every Human Heart A Desire Of Distinction, Which Inclines Every Man First To Hope, And Then To Believe, That Nature Has Given Him Something Peculiar To Himself.

Extended Empires Are Like Expanded Gold, Exchanging Solid Strength For Feeble Splendor.

Persius Has Justly Observed, That Knowledge Is Nothing To Him Who Is Not Known By Others To Possess It: To The Scholar Himself It Is Nothing With Respect Either To Honour Or Advantage, For The World Cannot Reward Those Qualities Which Are Concealed From It; With Respect To Others It Is Nothing, Because It Affords No Help To Ignorance Or Errour.