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I flatter my self to have demonstrated that, neither the Friendly Qualities and kind Affections that are natural to Man, nor the real Virtues he is capable of acquiring by Reason and Self-Denial, are the Foundation of Society; but that what we call Evil in this World, Moral as well as Natural, is the grand Principle that makes us sociable Creatures, the solid Basis, the Life and Support of all Trades and Employments without Exception: That there we must look for the true Origin of all Arts and Sciences, and that the Moment Evil ceases, the Society must be spoiled, if not totally dissolved.

Ashamed of the many Frailties they feel within, all Men endeavour to hide themselves, their Ugly Nakedness, from each other, and wrapping up the true Motives of their Hearts in the Specious Cloke of Sociableness, and their Concern for the publick Good, they are in hopes of concealing their filthy Appetites and the Deformity of their Desires.

They that examine into the Nature of Man, abstract from Art and Education, may observe, that what renders him a Sociable Animal, consists not in his desire of Company, Good-nature, Pity, Affability, and other Graces of a fair Outside; but that his vilest and most hateful Qualities are the most necessary Accomplishments to fit him for the largest, and, according to the World, the happiest and most flourishing Societies.

Luxury

Employ'd a Million of the Poor,

And odious Pride a Million more;

Envy it self, and Vanity,

Were Ministers of Industry;

Their darling Folly, Fickleness,

In Diet, Furniture and Dress,

That strange ridic'lous Vice, was made

The very Wheel that turn'd the Trade.

Thus Vice nurs'd Ingenuity,

Which join'd with Time and Industry,

Had carry'd Life's Conveniences,

It's real Pleasures, Comforts, Ease,

To such a Height, the very Poor

Liv'd better than the Rich before.

Thus every Part was full of Vice,

Yet the whole Mass a Paradise;

Flatter'd in Peace, and fear'd in Wars,

They were th' Esteem of Foreigners,

And lavish of their Wealth and Lives,

The Balance of all other Hives.

Life's only obligation, afterall, was to be interesting.

If laying aside all worldly Greatness and Vain-Glory, I should be ask'd where I thought it was most probable that Men might enjoy true Happiness, I would prefer a small peaceable Society, in which Men, neither envy'd nor esteem'd by Neighbours, should be contented to live upon the Natural Product of the Spot they inhabit, to a vast Multitude abounding in Wealth and Power, that should always be conquering others by their Arms Abroad, and debauching themselves by Foreign Luxury at Home.

The worst of all the Multitude

Did something for the Common Good.

All those large dreams by which men long live well

Are magic-lanterned on the smoke of hell.

Liberal hopefulness

Regards death as a mere border to an improving picture.

Whatever made me the way I am left me hollow, empty inside, unable to feel. It doesn't seem like a big deal. I'm quite sure most people fake an awful lot of everyday human contact. I just fake it all. I fake it very well, and the feelings are never there.