I Have Gathered A Posy Of Other

What Of A Truth That Is Bounded By These Mountains And Is Falsehood To The World That Lives Beyond?

To Divert Myself From A Troublesome Fancy, It Is But To Run To My Books; They Presently Fix Me To Them, And Drive The Other Out Of My Thoughts, And Do Not Mutiny To See That I Have Only Recourse To Them For Want Of Other More, Real, Natural, And Lively Conveniences; They Always Receive Me With The Same Kindness.

Every Place Swarms With Commentaries; Of Authors There Is Great Scarcity.

There Is No Passion That So Much Transports Men From Their Right Judgments As Anger. No One Would Demur Upon Punishing A Judge With Death Who Should Condemn A Criminal Upon The Account Of His Own Choler; Why Then Should Fathers And Pedants Be Any More Allowed To Whip And Chastise Children In Their Anger? It Is Then No Longer Correction Bat Revenge. Chastisement Is Instead Of Physic To Children; And Should We Suffer A Physician Who Should Be Animated Against And Enraged At His Patient?

The Thing In The World I Am Most Afraid Of Is Fear, And With Good Reason; That Passion Alone, In The Trouble Of It, Exceeding All Other Accidents