To What Fortuitous Occurrence Do We Not

The Whitewash'd Wall, The Nicely Sanded Floor, The Varnish'd Clock That Click'd Behind The Door; The Chest, Contriv'd A Double Debt To Pay,- A Bed By Night, A Chest Of Drawers By Day.

Measures, Not Men, Have Always Been My Mark.

In My Time, The Follies Of The Town Crept Slowly Among Us, But Now They Travel Faster Than A Stagecoach.

Modesty Seldom Resides In A Breast That Is Not Enriched With Nobler Virtues.

Mortifications Are Often More Painful Than Real Calamities.