He That Has Too Much To Do

There Are Occasions On Which It Is Noble To Dare To Stand Alone. To Be Pious Among Infidels, To Be Disinterested In A Time Of General Venality, To Lead A Life Of Virtue And Reason In The Midst Of Sensualists, Is A Proof Of A Mind Intent On Nobler Things Than The Praise Or Blame Of Men, Of A Soul Fixed In The Contemplation Of The Highest Good, And Superiour To The Tyranny Of Custom And Example.

But, Perhaps, The Flatterer Is Not Often Detected; For An Honest Mind Is Not Apt To Suspect, And No One Exerts The Power Of Discernment With Much Vigour When Selflove Favors The Deceit.

The Joy Of Life Is Variety; The Tenderest Love Requires To Be Rekindled By Intervals Of Absence.

The Mere Power Of Saving What Is Already In Our Hands Must Be Of Easy Acquisition To Every Mind; And As The Example Of Lord Bacon May Show That The Highest Intellect Cannot Safely Neglect It, A Thousand Instances Every Day Prove That The Humblest May Practise It With Success.

To Write Is, Indeed, No Unpleasing Employment, When One Sentiment Readily Produces Another, And Both Ideas And Expressions Present Themselves At The First Summons; But Such Happiness, The Greatest Genius Does Not Always Obtain; And Common Writers Know It Only To Such A Degree, As To Credit Its Possibility. Composition Is, For The Most Part, An Effort Of Slow Diligence And Steady Perseverance, To Which The Mind Is Dragged By Necessity Or Resolution, And From Which The Attention Is Every Moment Starting To More Delightful Amusements.