Players, Sir! I Look On Them As

The Imaginations Excited By The View Of An Unknown And Untravelled Wilderness Are Not Such As Arise In The Artificial Solitude Of Parks And Gardens... The Phantoms Which Haunt A Desert Are Want, And Misery, And Danger; The Evils Of Dereliction Rush Upon The Thoughts; Man Is Made Unwillingly Acquainted With His Own Weakness, And Meditation Shows Him Only How Little He Can Sustain, And How Little He Can Perform.

Come, Let Me Know What It Is That Makes A Scotch Man Happy!

To Be Prejudiced Is Always To Be Weak; Yet There Are Prejudices So Near To Laudable That They Have Been Often Praised And Are Always Pardoned.

Praise, Like Gold And Diamonds, Owes Its Value Only To Its Scarcity.

Exercise Cannot Secure Us From That Dissolution To Which We Are Decreed; But While The Soul And Body Continue United, It Can Make The Association Pleasing, And Give Probable Hopes That They Shall Be Disciplined By An Easy Separation...to Die Is The Fate Of Man; But To Die With Lingering Anguish Is Generally His Folly.