Every Man Speaks And Writes With Intent

To Strive With Difficulties, And To Conquer Them, Is The Highest Human Felicity; The Next Is, To Strive, And Deserve To Conquer: But He Whose Life Has Passed Without A Contest, And Who Can Boast Neither Success Nor Merit, Can Survey Himself Only As A Useless Filler Of Existence; Ad If He Is Content With His Own Character, Must Owe His Satisfaction To Insensibility.

The True Genius Is A Mind Of Large General Powers, Accidentally Determined To Some Particular Direction.

I Look Upon This As I Did Upon The Dictionary: It Is All Work, And My Inducement To It Is Not Love Or Desire Of Fame, But The Want Of Money, Which Is The Only Motive To Writing That I Know Of.

If We Consider The Manner In Which Those Who Assume The Office Of Directing The Conduct Of Others Execute Their Undertaking, It Will Not Be Very Wonderful That Their Labours, However Zealous Or Affectionate, Are Frequently Useless. For What Is The Advice That Is Commonly Given? A Few General Maxims, Enforced With Vehemence, And Inculcated With Importunity, But Failing For Want Of Particular Reference And Immediate Application.

To Love Their Country Has Been Considered As Virtue In Men, Whose Love Could Not Be Otherwise Than Blind, Because Their Preference Was Made Without, A Comparison; But It Has Never Been My Fortune To Find, Either In Ancient Or Modern Writers, Any Honourable Mention Of Those, Who Have, With Equal Blindness, Hated Their Country.