Experience Is The Mother Of Custom.

Like A Bird She Seems To Wear Gay Plumage Unconsciously, As If It Grew Upon Her.

Men Who Neglect Christ, And Try To Win Heaven Through Moralities, Are Like Sailors At Sea In A Storm, Who Pull, Some At The Bowsprit And Some At The Mainmast, But Never Touch The Helm.

Everyone Has Conscience Enough To Hate; Few Have Religion Enough To Love.

The Mischiefs Of Anarchy Have Been Equaled By The Mischiefs Of Government.

I Have Great Hope Of A Wicked Man, Slender Hope Of A Mean One. A Wicked Man May Be Converted And Become A Prominent Saint. A Mean Man Ought To Be Converted Six Or Seven Times, One Right After The Other, To Give Him A Fair Start And Put Him On An Equality With A Bold, Wicked Man.