Sympathy (n.) has its ugly offspring too: popular sedition, party zeal and devoted obedience to factious leaders.
Sympathy (n.) is an idea of another's feeling that catches fire from our idea of ourselves until it becomes the very passion itself.
Sympathy (n.) can reach no further than its first spark allows: as pipes can convey no more water than rises at the fountain.
Sympathy (n.) is the principle that takes us so far out of ourselves that others' characters please or pain us as if they touched our own advantage.
Sympathy (n.) is much fainter than self-concern, and fainter still for the remote — which is exactly why calm judgement must ignore those differences.
Sympathy (n.) runs between minds as between strings equally wound: the motion of one communicates itself to the rest.
Sympathy (n.) is why a nation thinks alike: not soil or climate, which stay the same for centuries, but the contagion of sentiment between neighbours.
Sympathy (n.) is so delicate that we suffer for a stutterer, and even a silently read line of jarring syllables grates, because we imagine someone pronouncing it.
Sympathy (n.) in narrow spirits goes no further than a slight feeling of the imagination — enough to hand out praise and blame, never enough to act.
Sympathy (n.) is the soul of every other passion — pride, ambition, avarice, curiosity, revenge, lust — none would have any force if we abstracted from what others think and feel.
Sympathy (n.) is nothing but a lively idea converted into an impression — so it can make us feel pains that belong to no one and do not yet exist, as when I run to save a sleeping stranger from the horses.