Much May Be Made Of

I Know Not, Madam, That You Have A Right, Upon Moral Principles, To Make Your Readers Suffer So Much.

Sorrow Is Properly That State Of The Mind In Which Our Desires Are Fixed Upon The Past Without Looking Forward To The Future.

The Blaze Of Reputation Cannot Be Blown Out, But It Often Dies In The Socket; A Very Few Names May Be Considered As Perpetual Lamps That Shine Unconsumed.

There Must Always Be A Struggle Between A Father And Son, While One Aims At Power And The Other At Independence.

You Teach Your Daughters The Diameters Of The Planets And Wonder When You Are Done That They Do Not Delight In Your Company.