Human Happiness Has Always Its

A Man Finds In The Productions Of Nature An Inexhaustible Stock Of Material On Which He Can Employ Himself, Without Any Temptations To Envy Or Malevolence, And Has Always A Certain Prospect Of Discovering New Reasons For Adoring The Sovereign Author Of The Universe.

Solitude Is The Surest Nurse Of All Prurient Passions, And A Girl In The Hurry Of Preparation, Or Tumult Of Gaiety, Has Neither Inclination Nor Leisure To Let Tender Expressions Soften Or Sink Into Her Heart. The Ball, The Show, Are Not The Dangerous Places: No, 'tis The Private Friend, The Kind Consoler, The Companion Of The Easy Vacant Hour, Whose Compliance With Her Opinions Can Flatter Her Vanity, And Whose Conversation Can Sooth, Without Ever Stretching Her Mind, That Is The Lover To Be Feared: He Who Buzzes In Her Ear At Court, Or At The Opera, Must Be Contented To Buzz In Vain.

The Gratification Which Affluence Of Wealth, Extent Of Power, And Eminence Of Reputation Confer, Must Be Always, By Their Own Nature, Confined To A Very Small Number; And The Life Of The Greater Part Of Mankind Must Be Lost In Empty Wishes And Painful Comparisons, Were Not The Balm Of Philosophy Shed Upon Us, And Our Discontent At The Appearances Of Unequal Distribution Soothed And Appeased.

The Seeds Of Knowledge May Be Planted In Solitude, But Must Be Cultivated In Public.

In All Political Regulations, Good Cannot Be Complete, It Can Only Be Predominant.