A Man May Be So Much Of

Truth Has No Gradations; Nothing Which Admits Of Increase Can Be So Much What It Is, As Truth Is Truth. There May Be A Strange Thing, And A Thing More Strange. But If A Proposition Be True, There Can Be None More True.

Such Is The Common Process Of Marriage. A Youth And Maiden Exchange Meeting By Chance, Or Brought Together By Artifice, Exchange Glances, Reciprocate Civilities, Go Home, And Dream Of One Another. Having Little To Divert Attention, Or Diversify Thought, They Find Themselves Uneasy When They Are Apart, And Therefore Conclude That They Shall Be Happy Together. They Marry, And Discover What Nothing But Voluntary Blindness Had Before Concealed; They Wear Out Life In Altercations, And Charge Nature With Cruelty.

As Every One Is Pleased With Imagining That He Knows Something Not Yet Commonly Divulged, Secret History Easily Gains Credit; But It Is For The Most Part Believed Only While It Circulates In Whispers, And When Once It Is Openly Told, Is Openly Refuted.

I Inherited A Vile Melancholy From My Father, Which Has Made Me Mad All My Life, At Least Not Sober.

A Mere Literary Man Is A Dull Man; A Man Who Is Solely A Man Of Business Is A Selfish Man; But When Literature And Commerce Are United, They Make A Respectable Man.