The Tie Which Links Mother And Child

Men Are Always Doomed To Be Duped, Not So Much By The Arts Of The Other As By Their Own Imagination. They Are Always Wooing Goddesses, And Marrying Mere Mortals.

The Sorrow For The Dead Is The Only Sorrow From Which We Refuse To Be Divorced. Every Other Wound We Seek To Heal - Every Other Affliction To Forget: But This Wound We Consider It A Duty To Keep Open - This Affliction We Cherish And Brood Over In Solitude.

For What Is History, But... Huge Libel On Human Nature, To Which We Industriously Add Page After Page, Volume After Volume, As If We Were Holding Up A Monument To The Honor, Rather Than The Infamy Of Our Species.

In Civilized Life, Where The Happiness, And Indeed Almost The Existence, Of Man Depends So Much Upon The Opinion Of His Fellow Men, He Is Constantly Acting A Studied Part.

When The Gauls Laid Waste Rome, They Found The Senators Clothed In Their Robes, And Seated In Stern Tranquillity In Their Curule Chairs; In This Manner They Suffered Death Without Resistance Or Supplication. Such Conduct Was In Them Applauded As Noble And Magnanimous; In The Hapless Indians It Was Reviled As Both Obstinate And Sullen. How Truly Are We The Dupes Of Show And Circumstances! How Different Is Virtue, Clothed In Purple And Enthroned In State, From Virtue, Naked And Destitute, And Perishing Obscurely In A Wilderness.