He Left The Name At Which The

To Tell Of Disappointment And Misery, To Thicken The Darkness Of Futurity, And Perplex The Labyrinth Of Uncertainty, Has Been Always A Delicious Employment Of The Poets

Every Desire Is A Viper In The Bosom, Who While He Was Chill Was Harmless; But When Warmth Gave Him Strength, Exerted It In Poison.

But Though It Cannot Be Reasonable Not To Gain Happiness For Fear Of Losing It, Yet It Must Be Confessed, That In Proportion To The Pleasure Of Possession, Will Be For Some Time Our Sorrow For The Loss.

The Duties Of Religion, Sincerely And Regularly Performed, Will Always Be Sufficient To Exalt The Meanest And To Exercise The Highest Understanding.

Want Of Tenderness Is Want Of Parts, And Is No Less A Proof Of Stupidity Than Depravity.