A Good Man, Through Obscurest Aspirations Has

Devote Each Day To The Object Then In Time And Every Evening Will Find Something Done.

Would You Require A Wretched Being, Whose Life Is Slowly Wasting Under A Lingering Disease, To Despatch Himself At Once By The Stroke Of A Dagger? Does Not The Very Disorder Which Consumes His Strength Deprive Him Of The Courage To Effect His Deliverance?

A State Of True And Universal Tolerance Is Best Ensured By Leaving Alone The Peculiarities Of Men And Peoples.

To Hard Necessity Ones Will And Fancy Must Conform.

Colors Are The Deeds/ And Sufferings Of Light.