The End Of All Moral

The Whole Is A Riddle, An Enigma, An Inexplicable Mystery. Doubt, Uncertainty, Suspence Of Judgment Appear The Only Result Of Ourmost Accurate Scrutiny, Concerning This Subject. But Such Is The Frailty Of Human Reason, And Such The Irresistible Contagion Of Opinion, That Even This Deliberate Doubt Could Scarcely Be Upheld; Did We Not Enlarge Our View, And Opposing One Species Of Superstition To Another, Set Them A Quarrelling; While We Ourselves, During Their Fury And Contention, Happily Make Our Escape Into The Calm, Though Obscure, Regions Of Philosophy.

There Is No Such Thing As Freedom Of Choice Unless There Is Freedom To Refuse.

Methinks I Am Like A Man, Who Having Struck On Many Shoals, And Having Narrowly Escap'd Shipwreck In Passing A Small Frith, Has Yet The Temerity To Put Out To Sea In The Same Leaky Weather-beaten Vessel, And Even Carries His Ambition So Far As To Think Of Compassing The Globe Under These Disadvantageous Circumstances.

All Sentiment Is Right; Because Sentiment Has A Reference To Nothing Beyond Itself, And Is Always Real, Wherever A Man Is Conscious Of It. But All Determinations Of The Understanding Are Not Right; Because They Have A Reference To Something Beyond Themselves, To Wit, Real Matter Of Fact; And Are Not Always Conformable To That Standard.

The Heights Of Popularity And Patriotism Are Still The Beaten Road To Power And Tyranny.