The man that carries about with him the plague of a restless mind, can
never be pleased; he is ever shifting and changing, and is in truth
not so weary of his condition as of himself. Seldom or never contented
with his lot, he is ever hunting after happiness where it is not to
be found, without ever looking for it where it is. He indulges in the
strange propensity of his nature, which leads him to suppose that his
own lot is the most miserable, and therefore concludes that any change
he can make must be for the better. He loses sight of the virtues of
patience, constancy, and resignation, and seems not to know that every
station in life has its real or imaginary inconveniences; and that
it is better to bear with those which we are accustomed to endure,
and of which we know the utmost extent, than by aiming at the seeming
advantages of another way of life, to subject ourselves to all its
hidden miseries.
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