All Censure Of A Man's

Whoever Thinks Of Going To Bed Before Twelve O'clock Is A Scoundrel.

I Am Not Able To Instruct You. I Can Only Tell That I Have Chosen Wrong. I Have Passed My Time In Study Without Experience; In The Attainment Of Sciences Which Can, For The Most Part, Be But Remotely Useful To Mankind. I Have Purchased Knowledge At The Expense Of All The Common Comforts Of Life: I Have Missed The Endearing Elegance Of Female Friendship, And The Happy Commerce Of Domestic Tenderness.

Works Of Imagination Excel By Their Allurement And Delight; By Their Power Of Attracting And Detaining The Attention. That Book Is Good In Vain Which The Reader Throws Away. He Only Is The Master Who Keeps The Mind In Pleasing Captivity; Whose Pages Are Perused With Eagerness, And In Hope Of New Pleasure Are Perused Again; And Whose Conclusion Is Perceived With An Eye Of Sorrow, Such As The Traveller Casts Upon Departing Day.

Knowledge Is Praised And Desired By Multitudes Whom Her Charms Could Never Rouse From The Couch Of Sloth; Whom The Faintest Invitation Of Pleasure Draws Away From Their Studies; To Whom Any Other Method Of Wearing The Day Is More Eligible Than The Use Of Books, And Who Are More Easily Engaged By Any Conversation Than Such As May Rectify Their Notions Or Enlarge Their Comprehension.

Accustom Your Children Constantly To This; If A Thing Happened At One Window And They, When Relating It, Say That It Happened At Another, Do Not Let It Pass, But Instantly Check Them; You Do Not Know Where Deviation From Truth Will End