The Wise Man Applauds He Who He

The Road To Hell Is Paved With Good Intentions.

He That Outlives A Wife Whom He Has Long Loved, Sees Himself Disjoined From The Only Mind That Has The Same Hopes, And Fears, And Interest; From The Only Companion With Whom He Has Shared Much Good And Evil; And With Whom He Could Set His Mind At Liberty, To Retrace The Past Or Anticipate The Future. The Continuity Of Being Is Lacerated; The Settled Course Of Sentiment And Action Is Stopped; And Life Stands Suspended And Motionless.

What Is Written Without Effort Is In General Read Without Pleasure.

Pleasure Is Very Seldom Found Where It Is Sought. Our Brightest Blazes Of Gladness Are Commonly Kindled By Unexpected Sparks. The Flowers Which Scatter Their Odours From Time To Time In The Paths Of Life, Grow Up Without Culture From Seeds Scattered By Chance.

Hope Is An Amusement Rather Than A Good, And Adapted To None But Very Tranquil Minds.