A Small Unkindness Is A Great Offence.

Luxury And Dissipation, Soft And Gentle As Their Approaches Are, And Silently As They Throw Their Silken Chains About The Heart, Enslave It More Than The Most Active And Turbulent Vices

Outward Attacks And Troubles Rather Fix Than Unsettle The Christian, As Tempests From Without Only Serve To Root The Oak Faster; While An Inward Canker Will Gradually Rot And Decay It.

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.

Our Infinite Obligations To God Do Not Fill Our Hearts Half As Much As A Petty Uneasiness Of Our Own; Nor His Infinite Perfections As Much As Our Smallest Wants.

Wisdom Views With An Indifferent Eye All Finite Joys, All Blessings Born To Die.