Virtue Is Too Often Merely Local.

When Once A Man Has Made Celebrity Necessary To His Happiness, He Has Put It In The Power Of The Weakest And Most Timorous Malignity, If Not To Take Away His Satisfaction, At Least To Withhold It. His Enemies May Indulge Their Pride By Airy Negligence And Gratify Their Malice By Quiet Neutrality.

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.

Piety Is The Only Proper And Adequate Relief Of Decaying Man. He That Grows Old Without Religions Hopes, As He Declines Into Imbecility, And Feels Pains And Sorrows Incessantly Crowding Upon Him, Falls Into A Gulf Of Bottomless Misery, In Which Every Reflection Must Plunge Him Deeper And Deeper.

Turn On The Prudent Ant, Thy Heedful Eyes, Observe Her Labours, Sluggard, And Be Wise.

Every Period Of Life Is Obliged To Borrow Its Happiness From Time To Come.