No Young Man Ever Thinks He Shall

The Perfect Joys Of Heaven Do Not Satisfy The Cravings Of Nature.

It Is Only Necessary To Raise A Bugbear Before The English Imagination In Order To Govern It At Will. Whatever They Hate Or Fear, They Implicitly Believe In, Merely From The Scope It Gives To These Passions.

Of All Eloquence A Nickname Is The Most Concise; Of All Arguments The Most Unanswerable.

Pure Good Soon Grows Insipid, Wants Variety And Spirit. Pain Is A Bittersweet, Which Never Surfeits. Love Turns, With A Little Indulgence, To Indifference Or Disgust. Hatred Alone Is Immortal.

Our Contempt For Others Proves Nothing But The Illiberality And Narrowness Of Our Own Views.