There Exists In Human Nature

Vicissitudes Of Fortune, Which Spares Neither Man Nor The Proudest Of His Works, Which Buries Empires And Cities In A Common Grave.

The Land Was Then Covered With Morasses And Forests, Which Spread To A Boundless Extent, Whenever Man Has Ceased To Exercise His Dominion Over The Earth.

Our Sympathy Is Cold To The Relation Of Distant Misery.

History, Which Undertakes To Record The Transactions Of The Past, For The Instruction Of Future Ages, Would Ill Deserve That Honourable Office If She Condescended To Plead The Cause Of Tyrants, Or To Justify The Maxims Of Persecution.

The History Of Empires Is The Record Of Human Misery; The History Of The Sciences Is That Of The Greatness And Happiness Of Mankind.