No Man Can Have Much Kindness For

He Left The Name At Which The World Grew Pale, To Point A Moral, Or Adorn A Tale.

"i Fly From Pleasure," Said The Prince, "because Pleasure Has Ceased To Please; I Am Lonely Because I Am Miserable, And Am Unwilling To Cloud With My Presence The Happiness Of Others."

The Complaint, Therefore, That All Topicks Are Preoccupied, Is Nothing More Than The Murmur Of Ignorance Or Idleness, By Which Some Discourage Others, And Some Themselves; The Mutability Of Mankind Will Always Furnish Writers With New Images, And The Luxuriance Of Fancy May Always Embellish Them With New Decorations.

Indolence Is The Devil's Cushion.

When A Language Begins To Teem With Books, It Is Tending To Refinement; As Those Who Undertake To Teach Others Must Have Undergone Some Labour In Improving Themselves, They Set A Proportionate Value On Their Own Thoughts, And Wish To Enforce Them By Efficacious Expressions; Speech Becomes Embodied And Permanent; Different Modes And Phrases Are Compared, And The Best Obtains An Establishment. By Degrees One Age Improves Upon Another.