The Dangers Of Life Are Infinite, And

We Blame Equally Him Who Is Too Proud To Put A Proper Value On His Own Merit And Him Who Prizes Too Highly His Spurious Worth.

Life Seems So Vulgar, So Easily Content With The Commonplace Things Of Every Day, And Yet It Always Nurses And Cherishes Certain Higher Claims In Secret, And Looks About For The Means Of Satisfying Them.

What Is The Destiny Of Man, But To Fill Up The Measure Of His Sufferings, And To Drink His Allotted Cup Of Bitterness?

We Gladly Put Antiquity Above Our Age But Not Posterity. Only A Father Doesn't Begrudge His Son's Talent.

Could We Perfect Human Nature, We Might Also Expect A Perfect State Of Things.