The Abuse Of Terms Has At All

The World Does Not Require So Much To Be Informed As To Be Reminded.

The Secret Heart Is Fair Devotion's Temple; There The Saint, Even On That Living Altar, Lights The Flame Of Purest Sacrifice, Which Burns Unseen, Not Unaccepted.

After All That Corrupt Poets, And More Corrupt Philosophers, Have Told Us Of The Blandishments Of Pleasure, And Of Its Tendency To Soften The Temper And Humanize The Affections, It Is Certain, That Nothing Hardens The Heart Like Excessive And Unbounded Luxury; And He Who Refuses The Fewest Gratifications To His Own Voluptuousness, Will Generally Be Found The Least Susceptible Of Tenderness For The Wants Of Others.

My Retirement Was Now Become Solitude; The Former Is, I Believe, The Best State For The Mind Of Man, The Latter Almost The Worst. In Complete Solitude, The Eye Wants Objects, The Heart Wants Attachments, The Understanding Wants Reciprocation. The Character Loses Its Tenderness When It Has Nothing To Strengthen It, Its Sweetness When It Has Nothing To Soothe It.

Absence In Love Is Like Water Upon Fire; A Little Quickens, But Much Extinguishes It.