A propos of Distempers, I am going to tell you a thing that I am sure will make you wish your selfe here. The Small Pox so fatal and so general amongst us is here entirely harmless by the invention of engrafting (which is the term they give it). There is a set of old Women who make it their business to perform the Operation.

We have all our playthings. Happy are they who are contented with those they can obtain; those hours are spent in the wisest manner that can easiest shade the ills of life, and are the least productive of ill consequences.

My health is so often impaired that I begin to be as weary of it as mending old lace; when it is patched in one place, it breaks out in another.

In short I will part with anything for you but you.

Nature has not placed us in an inferior rank to men, no more than the females of other animals, where we see no distinction of capacity, though I am persuaded if there was a commonwealth of rational horses... it would be an established maxim amongst them that a mare could not be taught to pace.

It goes far towards reconciling me to being a woman, when I reflect that I am thus in no danger of ever marrying one.

People wish their enemies dead - but I do not; I say give them the gout, give them the stone!