Subordination Tends Greatly To Human Happiness. Were

There Is Something In Obstinacy Which Differs From Every Other Passion. Whenever It Fails, It Never Recovers, But Either Breaks Like Iron, Or Crumbles Sulkily Away, Like A Fractured Arch. Most Other Passions Have Their Periods Of Fatigue And Rest, Their Sufferings And Their Cure; But Obstinacy Has No Resource, And The First Wound Is Mortal.

No Man Reads A Book Of Science From Pure Inclination. The Books That We Do Read With Pleasure Are Light Compositions, Which Contain A Quick Succession Of Events.

Exercise Cannot Secure Us From That Dissolution To Which We Are Decreed; But While The Soul And Body Continue United, It Can Make The Association Pleasing, And Give Probable Hopes That They Shall Be Disciplined By An Easy Separation...to Die Is The Fate Of Man; But To Die With Lingering Anguish Is Generally His Folly.

Irresolution And Mutability Are Often The Faults Of Men Whose Views Are Wide, And Whose Imagination Is Vigorous And Excursive.

I Fancy Mankind May Come, In Time, To Write All Aphoristically, Except In Narrative; Grow Weary Of Preparation, And Connection, And Illustration, And All Those Arts By Which A Big Book Is Made.