Sir, I Think All Christians, Whether Papists

The Mental Disease Of The Present Generation Is Impatience Of Study, Contempt Of The Great Masters Of Ancient Wisdom, And A Disposition To Rely Wholly Upon Unassisted Genius And Natural Sagacity. The Wits Of These Happy Days Have Discovered A Way To Fame, Which The Dull Caution Of Our Laborious Ancestors Durst Never Attempt; They Cut The Knots Of Sophistry, Which It Was Formerly The Business Of Years To Untie, Solve Difficulties By Sudden Irradiations Of Intelligence, And Comprehend Long Processes Of Argument By Immediate Intuition.

Man Alone Is Born Crying, Lives Complaining, And Dies Disappointed.

Bachelors Have Consciences, Married Men Have Wives.

The Parallel Circumstances And Kindred Images To Which We Readily Conform Our Minds Are, Above All Other Writings, To Be Found In The Lives Of Particular Persons, And Therefore No Species Of Writing Seems More Worthy Of Cultivation Than Biography.

Life Is Surely Given Us For Higher Purposes Than To Gather What Our Ancestors Have Wisely Thrown Away, And To Learn What Is Of No Value But Because It Has Been Forgotten.