The Mind Is Always The

There Is Only One Kind Of Love, But There Are A Thousand Imitations.

Though Nature Be Ever So Generous, Yet Can She Not Make A Hero Alone. Fortune Must Contribute Her Part Too; And Till Both Concur, The Work Cannot Be Perfected.

The Desire Of Talking Of Ourselves, And Showing Those Faults We Do Not Mind Having Seen, Makes Up A Good Part Of Our Sincerity.

Idleness Is More An Infirmity Of The Mind Than Of The Body.

Hope And Fear Are Inseparable.