To Be Of No Church Is Dangerous.

Knowledge Is Praised And Desired By Multitudes Whom Her Charms Could Never Rouse From The Couch Of Sloth; Whom The Faintest Invitation Of Pleasure Draws Away From Their Studies; To Whom Any Other Method Of Wearing The Day Is More Eligible Than The Use Of Books, And Who Are More Easily Engaged By Any Conversation Than Such As May Rectify Their Notions Or Enlarge Their Comprehension.

Nothing Is More Common Than For Men To Make Partial And Absurd Distinctions Between Vices Of Equal Enormity, And To Observe Some Of The Divine Commands With Great Scrupulousness, While They Violate Others, Equally Important, Without Any Concern, Or The Least Apparent Conciousness Of Guilt. Alas, It Is Only Wisdom Which Perceives This Tragedy.

There Is A Certain Race Of Men That Either Imagine It Their Duty, Or Make It Their Amusement, To Hinder The Reception Of Every Work Of Learning Or Genius, Who Stand As Sentinels In The Avenues Of Fame, And Value Themselves Upon Giving Ignorance And Envy The First Notice Of A Prey.

Deign On The Passing World To Turn Thine Eyes, And Pause Awhile From Letters, To Be Wise.

I Am Not Yet So Lost In Lexicography, As To Forget That Words Are The Daughters Of The Earth, And That Things Are The Sons Of Heaven. Language Is Only The Instrument Of Science, And Words Are But The Signs Of Ideas: I Wish, However, That The Instrument Might Be Less Apt To Decay, And That Signs Might Be Permanent, Like The Things Which They Denote.