I Wish There Were Some Cure, Like

It Is Necessary To The Success Of Flattery, That It Be Accommodated To Particular Circumstances Or Characters, And Enter The Heart On That Side Where The Passions Are Ready To Receive It.

Whatever Withdraws Us From The Power Of Our Senses; Whatever Makes The Past, The Distant, Or The Future, Predominate Over The Present, Advances Us In The Dignity Of Thinking Beings. Far From Me, And Far From My Friends Be Such Frigid Philosophy As May Conduct Us Indifferent And Unmoved Over Any Ground Which Has Been Dignified By Wisdom, Bravery, Or Virtue. That Man Is Little To Be Envied Whose Patriotism Would Not Gain Force Upon The Plain Of Marathon, Or Whose Piety Would Not Grow Warmer Among The Ruins Of Ionia.

Of All The Griefs That Harass The Distress'd, Sure The Most Bitter Is A Scornful Jest; Fate Never Wounds More Deep The Generous Heart, Than When A Blockhead's Insult Points The Dart.

In The Motive Lies The Good Or Ill.

To Embarrass Justice By Multiplicity Of Laws, Or To Hazard It By Confidence In Judges, Seem To Be The Opposite Rocks On Which All Civil Institutions Have Been Wrecked, And Between Which Legislative Wisdom Has Never Yet Found An Open Passage.