The True Art Of Memory Is The

To Those Who Have Lived Long Together, Everything Heard And Everything Seen Recalls Some Pleasure Communicated, Some Benefit Conferred, Some Petty Quarrel Or Some Slight Endearment. Esteem Of Great Powers, Or Amiable Qualities Newly Discovered May Embroider A Day Or A Week, But A Friendship Of Twenty Years Is Interwoven With The Texture Of Life.

I Have Often Thought That There Has Rarely Passed A Life Of Which A Judicious And Faithful Narrative Would Not Be Useful; For Not Only Every Man Has, In The Mighty Mass Of The World, Great Numbers In The Same Condition With Himself, To Whom His Mistakes And Miscarriages, Escapes And Expedients, Would Be Of Immediate And Apparent Use; But There Is Such A Uniformity In The State Of Man, Considered Apart From Adventitious And Separable Decorations And Disguises, That There Is Scarce Any Possibility Of Good Or Ill But Is Common To Human Kind.

Those Whose Abilities Or Knowledge Incline Them Most To Deviate From The General Round Of Life Are Recalled From Eccentricity By The Laws Of Their Existence.

Wine Makes A Man Better Pleased With Himself. I Do Not Say That It Makes Him More Pleasing To Others.

Good Sense Alone Is A Sedate And Quiescent Quality, Which Manages Its Possessions Well, But Does Not Increase Them; It Collects Few Materials For Its Own Operations, And Preserves Safety, But Never Gains Supremacy.