The Public Weal Requires That Men Should

Stupidity And Wisdom Meet In The Same Centre Of Sentiment And Resolution, In The Suffering Of Human Accidents.

My Trade And Art Is To Live.

I Agree That We Should Work And Prolong The Functions Of Life As Far As We Can, And Hope That Death May Find Me Planting My Cabbages, But Indifferent To Him And Still More To The Unfinished State Of My Garden.

The Finest Souls Are Those That Have The Most Variety And Suppleness.

I Find No Quality So Easy For A Man To Counterfeit As Devotion, Though His Life And Manner Are Not Conformable To It; The Essence Of It Is Abstruse And Occult, But The Appearances Easy And Showy.