A Man Who Uses A Great Many

Whatever Is Formed For Long Duration Arrives Slowly To Its Maturity.

In A Man's Letters You Know, Madam, His Soul Lies Naked, His Letters Are Only The Mirror Of His Breast, Whatever Passes Within Him Is Shown Undisguised In Its Natural Process. Nothing Is Inverted, Nothing Distorted, You See Systems In Their Elements, You Discover Actions In Their Motives.

Man Is A Transitory Being, And His Designs Must Partake Of The Imperfections Of Their Author. To Confer Duration Is Not Always In Our Power. We Must Snatch The Present Moment, And Employ It Well, Without Too Much Solicitude For The Future, And Content Ourselves With Reflecting That Our Part Is Performed. He That Waits For An Opportunity To Do Much At Once, May Breathe Out His Life In Idle Wishes, And Regret, In The Last Hour, His Useless Intentions And Barren Zeal.

The Seeds Of Knowledge May Be Planted In Solitude, But Must Be Cultivated In Public.

There Are Few Ways In Which A Man Can Be More Innocently Employed Than In Getting Money.