Amidst The Soft Variety I'm

A Thousand Glorious Actions That Might Claim Triumphant Laurels, And Immortal Fame, Confus'd In Crowds Of Glorious Actions Lie, And Troops Of Heroes Undistinguished Die.

When I Behold A Fashionable Table Set Out In All Its Magnificence, I Fancy That I See Gouts And Dropsies, Fevers And Lethargies, With Other Innumerable Distempers Lying In Ambuscade Among The Dishes. Nature Delights In The Most Plain And Simple Diet. Every Animal But Man Keeps To One Dish. Herbs Are The Food Of This Species, Fish Of That, And Flesh Of A Third. Man Falls Upon Everything That Comes In His Way; Not The Smallest Fruit Or Excrescence Of The Earth, Scarce A Berry Or A Mushroom Can Escape Him.

Among Those Evils Which Befall Us, There Are Many Which Have Been More Painful To Us In The Prospect Than By Their Actual Pressure.

I Consider An Human Soul Without Education Like Marble In The Quarry, Which Shows None Of Its Inherent Beauties Till The Skill Of The Polisher Fetches Out The Colours, Makes The Surface Shine, And Discovers Every Ornamental Cloud, Spot And Vein That Runs Through The Body Of It.

I Have Always Preferred Cheerfulness To Mirth. The Latter I Consider As An Act, The Former As A Habit Of Mind. Mirth Is Short And Transient, Cheerfulness Fixed And Permanent.