No Man Hates Him At

Self-love Is Often Rather Arrogant Than Blind; It Does Not Hide Our Faults From Ourselves, But Persuades Us That They Escape The Notice Of Others.

When A Language Begins To Teem With Books, It Is Tending To Refinement; As Those Who Undertake To Teach Others Must Have Undergone Some Labour In Improving Themselves, They Set A Proportionate Value On Their Own Thoughts, And Wish To Enforce Them By Efficacious Expressions; Speech Becomes Embodied And Permanent; Different Modes And Phrases Are Compared, And The Best Obtains An Establishment. By Degrees One Age Improves Upon Another.

It Is Indeed Certain, That Whoever Attempts Any Common Topick, Will Find Unexpected Coincidences Of His Thoughts With Those Of Other Writers; Nor Can The Nicest Judgment Always Distinguish Accidental Similitude From Artful Imitation.

The Trappings Of A Monarchy Would Set Up An Ordinary Commonwealth.

Hope Itself Is A Species Of Happiness, And, Perhaps, The Chief Happiness Which This World Affords; But, Like All Other Pleasures Immoderately Enjoyed, The Excesses Of Hope Must Be Expiated By Pain.