That We Must All Die, We Always

The True Measure Of A Man Is How He Treats Someone Who Can Do Him Absolutely No Good.

Every Period Of Life Is Obliged To Borrow Its Happiness From Time To Come.

He That Compares What He Has Done With What He Has Left Undone, Will Feel The Effect Which Must Always Follow The Comparison Of Imagination With Reality; He Will Look With Contempt On His Own Unimportance, And Wonder To What Purpose He Came Into The World; He Will Repine That He Shall Leave Behind Him No Evidence Of His Having Been, That He Has Added Nothing To The System Of Life, But Has Glided From Youth To Age Among The Crowd, Without Any Effort For Distinction.

Few Of Those Who Fill The World With Books, Have Any Pretensions To The Hope Either Of Pleasing Or Instructing. They Have Often No Other Task Than To Lay Two Books Before Them, Out Of Which They Compile A Third, Without Any New Material Of Their Own, And With Very Little Application Of Judgment To Those Which Former Authors Have Supplied.

Every Man Has Frequent Grievances Which Only The Solicitude Of Friendship Will Discover And Remedy, And Which Would Remain For Ever Unheeded In The Mighty Heap Of Human Calamity, Were It Only Surveyed By The Eye Of General Benevolence Equally Attentive To Every Misery.