Though every
funeral that passes before their eyes evinces the
deceitfulness of such expectations, since every man who is
born to the grave thought himself equally certain of
living at least to the next year; the survivor still
continues to flatter himself, and is never at a loss for
some reason why his life should be protracted, and
the voracity of death continue to be pacified with
some other prey.
But this is only one of the innumerable artifices
practised in the universal conspiracy of mankind
against themselves: every age and every condition
indulges some darling fallacy; every man amuses
himself with projects which he knows to be improbable,
and which, therefore, he resolves to pursue
without daring to examine them. Whatever any man
ardently desires, he very readily believes that he shall
some time attain: he whose intemperance has
overwhelmed him with diseases, while he languishes in
the spring, expects vigour and recovery from the
summer sun; and while he melts away in the summer,
transfers his hopes to the frosts of winter: he
that gazes upon elegance or pleasure, which want of
money hinders him from imitating or partaking,
comforts himself that the time of distress will soon
be at an end, and that every day brings him nearer
to a state of happiness; though he knows it has passed
not only without acquisition of advantage, but perhaps
without endeavours after it, in the formation
of schemes that cannot be executed, and in the
contemplation of prospects which cannot be approached.
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