When I Was As You Are Now,

There Is Nothing Which Has Yet Been Contrived By Man, By Which So Much Happiness Is Produced As By A Good Tavern.

The Eye Of The Mind, Like That Of The Body, Can Only Extend Its View To New Objects, By Losing Sight Of Those Which Are Now Before It.

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

It Is Indeed Certain, That Whoever Attempts Any Common Topick, Will Find Unexpected Coincidences Of His Thoughts With Those Of Other Writers; Nor Can The Nicest Judgment Always Distinguish Accidental Similitude From Artful Imitation.

Cautious Age Suspects The Flattering Form, And Only Credits What Experience Tells.