Ignorance, Madam, Pure Ignorance.

So Scanty Is Our Present Allowance Of Happiness That In Many Situations Life Could Scarcely Be Supported If Hope Were Not Allowed To Relieve The Present Hour By Pleasures Borrowed From The Future.

Gloomy Calm Of Idle Vacancy.

No One Is Much Pleased With A Companion Who Does Not Increase, In Some Respect, Their Fondness For Themselves.

To Talk In Public, To Think In Solitude, To Read And To Hear, To Inquire And Answer Inquiries, Is The Business Of The Scholar

Life Is But Short; No Time Can Be Afforded But For The Indulgence Of Real Sorry, Or Contests Upon Questions Seriously Momentous. Let Us Not Throw Away Any Of Our Days Upon Useless Resentment, Or Contend Who Shall Hold Out Longest In Stubborn Malignity. It Is Best Not To Be Angry; And Best, In The Next Place, To Be Quickly Reconciled.