Much May Be Made Of

He That Floats Lazily Down The Stream, In Pursuit Of Something Borne Along By The Same Current, Will Find Himself Indeed Moved Forward; But Unless He Lays His Hand To The Oar, And Increases His Speed By His Own Labour, Must Be Always At The Same Distance From That Which He Is Following.

We May Have Uneasy Feelings For Seeing A Creature In Distress Without Pity; For We Have Not Pity Unless We Wish To Relieve Them.

To Revenge Reasonable Incredulity By Refusing Evidence, Is A Degree Of Insolence With Which The World Is Not Yet Acquainted; And Stubborn Audacity Is The Last Refuge Of Guilt.

Hope Is Necessary In Every Condition. The Miseries Of Poverty, Of Sickness, Or Captivity, Would, Without This Comfort, Be Insupportable; Nor Does It Appear That The Happiest Lot Of Terrestrial Existence Can Set Us Above The Want Of This General Blessing; Or That Life, When The Gifts Of Nature And Of Fortune Are Accumulated Upon It, Would Not Still Be Wretched, Were It Not Elevated And Delighted By The Expectation Of Some New Possession, Of Some Enjoyment Yet Behind, By Which The Wish Shall At Last Be Satisfied, And The Heart Filled Up To Its Utmost Extent.

The Roads Of Science Are Narrow, So That They Who Travel Them, Must Wither Follow Or Meet One Another.