In solitude the mind gains strength, and learns to lean upon herself; in the world it seeks or accepts of a few treacherous supports--the feigned compassion of one, the flattery of a second, the civilities of a third, the friendship of a fourth--they all deceive, and bring the mind back to retirement, reflection, and books.

A dwarf who brings a standard along with him to measure his own size, take my word, is a dwarf in more articles than one.

Great is the power of Eloquence; but never is it so great as when it pleads along with nature, and the culprit is a child strayed from his duty, and returned to it again with tears.

One may as well be asleep as to read for anything but to improve his mind and morals, and regulate his conduct.

In part of Lord Kames' Elements of Criticism, he says that "music improves the relish of a banquet." That I deny,--any more than painting might do. They may both be additional pleasures, as well as conversation is, but are perfectly distinct notices; and cannot, with the least propriety, be said to mix or blend with the repast, as none of them serve to raise the flavor of the wine, the sauce, the meat, or help to quicken appetite. But music and painting both add a spirit to devotion, and elevate the ardor.

The more tickets you have in a lottery, the worse your chance. And it is the same of virtues, in the lottery of life.

But this is neither here nor there why do I mention it? Ask my pen, it governs me, I govern not it.