He Who Waits To Do A Great

Ignorance Is Mere Privation By Which Nothing Can Be Produced: It Is A Vacuity In Which The Soul Sits Motionless And Torpid For Want Of Attraction: And, Without Knowing Why, We Always Rejoice When We Learn, And Grieve When We Forget.

Curiosity Is, In Great And Generous Minds, The First Passion And The Last.

The Blaze Of Reputation Cannot Be Blown Out, But It Often Dies In The Socket; A Very Few Names May Be Considered As Perpetual Lamps That Shine Unconsumed.

Nothing Odd Will Do Long. Tristram Shandy Did Not Last.

If The Man Who Turnips Cries, Cry Not When His Father Dies, 'tis Proof That He Had Rather Have A Turnip Than His Father.