There Must Always Be Some

If An Author Be Supposed To Involve His Thoughts In Voluntary Obscurity, And To Obstruct, By Unnecessary Difficulties, A Mind Eager In The Pursuit Of Truth; If He Writes Not To Make Others Learned, But To Boast The Learning Which He Possesses Himself, And Wishes To Be Admired Rather Than Understood, He Counteracts The First End Of Writing, And Justly Suffers The Utmost Severity Of Censure, Or The More Afflicting Severity Of Neglect.

There Is Something In Obstinacy Which Differs From Every Other Passion. Whenever It Fails, It Never Recovers, But Either Breaks Like Iron, Or Crumbles Sulkily Away, Like A Fractured Arch. Most Other Passions Have Their Periods Of Fatigue And Rest, Their Sufferings And Their Cure; But Obstinacy Has No Resource, And The First Wound Is Mortal.

When Desperate Ills Demand A Speedy Cure, Distrust Is Cowardice, And Prudence Folly.

The Necessary Connexion Of Representatives With Taxes, Seems To Have Sunk Deep Into Many Of Those Minds, That Admit Sounds, Without Their Meaning.

Hides From Himself His State, And Shuns To Know That Life Protracted Is Protracted Woe.