If Faith Produce No Works, I See

The Wretch Who Digs The Mine For Bread, Or Ploughs, That Others May Be Fed, Feels Less Fatigued Than That Decreed To Him Who Cannot Think Or Read.

The Roses Of Pleasure Seldom Last Long Enough To Adorn The Brow Of Him Who Plucks Them; For They Are The Only Roses Which Do Not Retain Their Sweetness After They Have Lost Their Beauty.

Temptation Does Not Make The Sin, It Lies Ready In The Heart.

That Silence Is One Of The Great Arts Of Conversation Is Allowed By Cicero Himself, Who Says, There Is Not Only An Art, But Even An Eloquence In It

I Am Persuaded That There Is No Affection Of The Human Heart More Exquisitely Pure, Than That Which Is Felt By A Grateful Son Towards A Mother.