There Is No Greater Sign Of A

T Is The Divinity That Stirs Within Us.

The Memory Is Perpetually Looking Back When We Have Nothing Present To Entertain Us. It Is Like Those Repositories In Animals That Are Filled With Food, On Which They May Ruminate When Their Present Pastures Fail.

Simonides, A Poet Famous In His Generation, Is, I Think, Author Of The Oldest Satire That Is Now Extant, And, As Some Say, Of The First That Was Ever Written.

Plutarch Says Very Finely That A Man Should Not Allow Himself To Hate Even His Enemies.

I Never Knew An Early-rising, Hard-working, Prudent Man, Careful Of His Earnings And Strictly Honest, Who Complained Of Hard Luck. A Good Character, Good Habits And Iron Industry Are Impregnable To The Assaults Of All Ill-luck That Fools Ever Dreamed.