Nothing comes amiss to a great _Soul_; and there is as much _Wisdom_ in
bearing other People's _Defects_, as in relishing their good
_Qualities_.

It argues a great heighth of _Judgment_ in a Man, to discover what is in
another's Breast, and to conceal what is in his own.

If Poverty be the Mother of Wickedness, want of _Wit_ must be the
Father.

* A _Mind_ that has no Ballance in it self, turns insolent, or abject,
out of measure, with the various Change of Fortune.

* Our _Memories_ are frail and treacherous; and we think many excellent
things, which for want of making a deep impression, we can never recover
afterwards. In vain we hunt for the stragling _Idea_, and rummage all
the Solitudes and Retirements of our Soul, for a lost Thought, which has
left no Track or Foot-steps behind it: The swift Off-spring of the Mind
is gone; 'tis dead as soon as born; nay, often proves abortive in the
moment it was conceiv'd: The only way therefore to retain our Thoughts,
is to fasten them in Words, and chain them in Writing.

* A Man is never so great a _Dunce_ by _Nature_, but _Love_, _Malice_,
or _Necessity_, will supply him with some _Wit_.

* There is a _Defect_ which is almost unavoidable in great _Inventors_;
it is the Custom of such earnest and powerful Minds, to do wonderful
Things in the beginning; but shortly after, to be over-born by the
Multitude and Weight of their own Thoughts; then to yield and cool by
little and little, and at last grow weary, and even to loath that, upon