Solitude Begets Whimsies.

There Is Nothing Can Pay One For That Invaluable Ignorance Which Is The Companion Of Youth, Those Sanguine Groundless Hopes, And That Lively Vanity Which Makes All The Happiness Of Life.

Whoever Will Cultivate Their Own Mind Will Find Full Employment. Every Virtue Does Not Only Require Great Care In The Planting, But As Much Daily Solicitude In Cherishing As Exotic Fruits And Flowers; The Vices And Passions (which I Am Afraid Are The Natural Product Of The Soil) Demand Perpetual Weeding. Add To This The Search After Knowledge. . . And The Longest Life Is Too Short.

There Can Be No Situation In Life In Which The Conversation Of My Dear Sister Will Not Administer Some Comfort To Me.

Civility Cost Nothing.

We Have All Our Playthings. Happy Are They Who Are Contented With Those They Can Obtain; Those Hours Are Spent In The Wisest Manner That Can Easiest Shade The Ills Of Life, And Are The Least Productive Of Ill Consequences.