Little things are great to little men.

So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar, But bind him to his native mountains more.

And what is friendship but a name, A charm that lulls to sleep, A shade that follows wealth or fame, And leaves the wretch to weep?

There is nothing so absurd or ridiculous that has not at some time been said by some philosopher. Fontenelle says he would undertake to persuade the whole public of readers to believe that the sun was neither the cause of light or heat, if he could only get six philosophers on his side.

Why was this heart of mine formed with so much sensibility! Or why not my fortune adapted to its impulses! Tenderness without a capacity of relieving only makes the man who feels it more wretched than the object which sues for assistance.

Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn.

The mind is ever ingenious in making its own distress.