To Be Happy At Home Is The

Every Man May Be Observed To Have A Certain Strain Of Lamentation, Some Peculiar Theme Of Complaint On Which He Dwells In His Moments Of Dejection.

Those Who Will Not Take The Trouble To Think For Themselves, Have Always Somebody That Thinks For Them; And The Difficulty In Writing Is To Please Those From Whom Others Learn To Be Pleased.

Authors And Lovers Always Suffer Some Infatuation, From Which Only Absence Can Set Them Free.

Moral Sentences Appear Ostentatious And Tumid, When They Have No Greater Occasions Than The Journey Of A Wit To His Home Town: Yet Such Pleasures And Such Pains Make Up The General Mass Of Life; And As Nothing Is Little To Him That Feels It With Gre

Man Is A Transitory Being, And His Designs Must Partake Of The Imperfections Of Their Author. To Confer Duration Is Not Always In Our Power. We Must Snatch The Present Moment, And Employ It Well, Without Too Much Solicitude For The Future, And Content Ourselves With Reflecting That Our Part Is Performed. He That Waits For An Opportunity To Do Much At Once, May Breathe Out His Life In Idle Wishes, And Regret, In The Last Hour, His Useless Intentions And Barren Zeal.