The More Accurately We Search

To Make Us Love Our Country, Our Country Ought To Be Lovely.

The Person Who Grieves Suffers His Passion To Grow Upon Him; He Indulges It, He Loves It; But This Never Happens In The Case Of Actual Pain, Which No Man Ever Willingly Endured For Any Considerable Time.

There Is America, Which At This Day Serves For Little More Than To Amuse You With Stories Of Savage Men And Uncouth Manners, Yet Shall, Before You Taste Of Death, Show Itself Equal To The Whole Of That Commerce Which Now Attracts The Envy Of The World.

Whatever Is Fitted In Any Sort To Excite The Ideas Of Pain And Danger, That Is To Say, Whatever Is In Any Sort Terrible, Or Is Conversant About Terrible Objects, Or Operates In A Manner Analogous To Terror, Is A Source Of The Sublime; That Is, It Is Productive Of The Strongest Emotion Which The Mind Is Capable Of Feeling... When Danger Or Pain Press Too Nearly, They Are Incapable Of Giving Any Delight, And Are Simply Terrible; But At Certain Distances, And With Certain Modifications, They May Be, And They Are, Delightful, As We Every Day Experience.

Our Patience Will Achieve More Than Our Force.