It Is Observed By Cicero, That Men

With What Astonishment And Veneration May We Look Into Our Own Souls, Where There Are Such Hidden Stores Of Virtue And Knowledge, Such Inexhaustible Sources Of Perfection. We Know Not Yet What We Shall Be, Nor Will It Ever Enter Into The Heart To Conceive The Glory That Will Be Always In Reserve For It.

There Is A Great Amity Between Designing And Art.

There Is Not Any Present Moment That Is Unconnected With Some Future One. The Life Of Every Man Is A Continued Chain Of Incidents, Each Link Of Which Hangs Upon The Former. The Transition From Cause To Effect, From Event To Event, Is Often Carried On By Secret Steps, Which Our Foresight Cannot Divine, And Our Sagacity Is Unable To Trace. Evil May At Some Future Period Bring Forth Good; And Good May Bring Forth Evil, Both Equally Unexpected.

A Common Civility To An Impertinent Fellow, Often Draws Upon One A Great Many Unforeseen Troubles; And If One Doth Not Take Particular Care, Will Be Interpreted By Him As An Overture Of Friendship And Intimacy.

Waning Moons Their Settled Periods Keep, To Swell The Billows And Ferment The Deep.