Adversity Leads Us To Think Properly Of

It Is Easy For A Man Who Sits Idle At Home, And Has Nobody To Please But Himself, To Ridicule Or Censure The Common Practices Of Mankind.

It Was His Peculiar Happiness That He Scarcely Ever Found A Stranger Whom He Did Not Leave A Friend; But It Must Likewise Be Added, That He Had Not Often A Friend Long Without Obliging Him To Become A Stranger.

Wheresoe'er I Turn My View, All Is Strange, Yet Nothing New: Endless Labor All Along, Endless Labor To Be Wrong: Phrase That Time Has Flung Away; Uncouth Words In Disarray, Trick'd In Antique Ruff And Bonnet, Ode, And Elegy, And Sonnet.

To Exact Of Every Man Who Writes That He Should Say Something New, Would Be To Reduce Authors To A Small Number; To Oblige The Most Fertile Genius To Say Only What Is New, Would Be To Contract His Volumes To A Few Pages. Yet, Surely, There Ought To Be Some Bounds To Repetition; Libraries Ought No More To Be Heaped For Ever With The Same Thoughts Differently Expressed, Than With The Same Books Differently Decorated.

When The Desire Of Wealth Is Taking Hold Of The Heart, Let Us Look Round And See How It Operates Upon Than Whose Industry Or Fortune Has Obtained It. When We Find Them Oppressed With Their Own Abundance, Luxurious Without Pleasure, Idle Without Ease, Impatient And Querulous In Themselves, And Despised Or Hated By The Rest Of Mankind, We Shall Soon Be Convinced That If The Real Wants Of Our Condition Are Satisfied, There Remains Little To Be Sought With Solicitude Or Desired With Eagerness.