Great Pompey's Shade Complains That We Are

Nations With Nations Mix'd Confus'dly Die, And Lost In One Promiscuous Carnage Lie.

The Gods In Bounty Work Up Storms About Us, That Give Mankind Occasion To Exert Their Hidden Strength, And Throw Our Into Practice Virtues That Shun The Day, And Lie Concealed In The Smooth Seasons And The Calms Of Life.

Health And Cheerfulness Naturally Beget Each Other.

Nothing, Says Longinus, Can Be Great, The Contempt Of Which Is Great.

Every One Knows The Veneration Which Was Paid By The Jews To A Name So Great, Wonderful, And Holy. They Would Not Let It Enter Even Into Their Religious Discourses. What Can We Then Think Of Those Who Make Use Of So Tremendous A Name, In The Ordinary Expression Of Their Anger, Mirth, And Most Impertinent Passions?