When Once The Forms Of Civility Are

Every Man That Has Felt Pain Knows How Little All Other Comforts Can Gladden Him To Whom Health Is Denied. Yet Who Is There Does Not Sometimes Hazard It For The Enjoyment Of An Hour?

The Business Of Life Summons Us Away From Useless Grief, And Calls Us To The Exercise Of Those Virtues Of Which We Are Lamenting Our Deprivation.

So Many Objections May Be Made To Everything, That Nothing Can Overcome Them But The Necessity Of Doing Something.

It Is Not Possible To Be Regarded With Tenderness, Except By A Few. That Merit Which Gives Greatness And Renown Diffuses Its Influence To A Wide Compass, But Acts Weakly On Every Single Breast; It Is Placed At A Distance From Common Spectators, And Shines Like One Of The Remote Stars, Of Which The Light Reaches Us, But Not The Heat.

Shakespeare Never Had Six Lines Together Without A Fault. Perhaps You May Find Seven, But This Does Not Refute My General Assertion.