It Is An Absurdity To

There Is No Such Thing As Freedom Of Choice Unless There Is Freedom To Refuse.

If Suicide Be Supposed A Crime, It Is Only Cowardice Can Impel Us To It. If It Be No Crime, Both Prudence And Courage Should Engage Us To Rid Ourselves At Once Of Existence When It Becomes A Burden. It Is The Only Way That We Can Then Be Useful To Society, By Setting An Example Which, If Imitated, Would Preserve Every One His Chance For Happiness In Life, And Would Effectually Free Him From All Danger Or Misery.

Eloquence, When At Its Highest Pitch, Leaves Little Room For Reason Or Reflection; But Addressing Itself Entirely To The Fancy Or The Affections, Captivates The Willing Hearers, And Subdues Their Understanding. Happily, This Pitch It Seldom Attains. But What A Tully Or A Demosthenes Could Scarcely Effect Over A Roman Or Athenian Audience, Every Capuchin, Every Itinerant Or Stationary Teacher Can Perform Over The Generality Of Mankind, And In A Higher Degree, By Touching Such Gross And Vulgar Passions.

It Is A Certain Rule That Wit And Passion Are Entirely Incompatible. When The Affections Are Moved, There Is No Place For The Imagination.

It Is With Books As With Women, Where A Certain Plainness Of Manner And Of Dress Is More Engaging Than That Glare Of Paint And Airs And Apparel Which May Dazzle The Eye, But Reaches Not The Affections.