Nothing Is More Pleasing To

And What's A Life? - A Weary Pilgrimage, Whose Glory In One Day Doth Fill The Stage With Childhood, Manhood, And Decrepit Age.

God Hath Given To Mankind A Common Library, His Creatures; To Every Man A Proper Book, Himself Being An Abridgment Of All Others. If Thou Read With Understanding, It Will Make Thee A Great Master Of Philosophy, And A True Servant Of The Divine Author: If Thou But Barely Read, It Will Make Thee Thine Own Wise Man And The Author's Fool.

Read Not Books Alone, But Men, And Amongst Them Chiefly Thyself. If Thou Find Anything Questionable There, Use The Commentary Of A Severe Friend, Rather Than The Gloss Of A Sweet-lipped Flatterer There Is More Profit In A Distasteful Truth Than In Deceitful Sweetness.

See How The World (whose Chaste And Pregnant Womb Of Late Conceiv'd, And Brought Forth Nothing Ill) Is Now Degenerated, And Become A Base Adult'ress, Whose False Births Do Fill The Earth With Monsters, Monsters That Do Roam And Rage About, And Make A Trade To Kill: Now Glutt'ny Paunches, And Avarice A Pawn; Pale Envy Pines, Pride Swells, And Sloth Begins To Yawn.

Of All The Difficulties In A State, The Temper Of A True Government Most Felicifies And Perpetuates It; Too Sudden Alterations Distemper It. Had Nero Tuned His Kingdom As He Did His Harp, His Harmony Had Been More Honorable, And His Reign More Prosperous.