To Buried Merit Rise The

I Would Consent To Have A Limb Amputated To Recover My Spirits

The Diversion Of Baiting An Author Has The Sanction Of All Ages And Nations, And Is More Lawful Than The Sport Of Teasing Other Animals, Because, For The Most Part, He Comes Voluntarily To The Stake, Furnished, As He Imagines, By The Patron Powers Of Literature, With Resistless Weapons, And Impenetrable Armour, With The Mail Of The Boar Of Erymanth, And The Paws Of The Lion Of Nemea.

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.

Books Have Always A Secret Influence On The Understanding; We Cannot At Pleasure Obliterate Ideas; He That Reads Books Of Science, Thogh Without Any Fixed Desire Of Improvement, Will Grow More Knowing.

Few Have Abilities So Much Needed By The Rest Of The World As To Be Caressed On Their Own Terms; And He That Will Not Condescend To Recommend Himself By External Embellishments Must Submit To The Fate Of Just Sentiment Meanly Expressed, And Be Ridiculed And Forgotten Before He Is Understood.