It is very strange, and very melancholy, that the paucity of human pleasures should persuade us ever to call hunting one of them.

Hope is itself a species of happiness.

Human experience, which is constantly contradicting theory, is the great test of truth. A system, built upon the discoveries of a great many minds, is always of more strength, than what is produced by the mere workings of any one mind, which, of itself, can do very little. There is not so poor a book in the world that would not be a prodigious effort were it wrought out entirely by a single mind, without the aid of prior investigators.

From ignorance our comfort flows, the only wretched are the wise

Such is the pleasure of projecting that many content themselves with a succession of visionary schemes, and wear out their allotted time in the calm amusement of contriving what they never attempt or hope to execute.

He who does not mind his belly, will hardly mind anything else.

Language is the dress of thought.