Friendship, Sweet-resting Place Of The Soul, The

My Mother Was Convinced, And On This Head I Have Retained Her Firm Belief, That To Kill Animals For The Purpose Of Feeding On Their Flesh Is One Of The Most Deplorable And Shameful Infirmities Of The Human State; That It Is One Of Those Curses Cast Upon Man Either By His Fall, Or By The Obduracy Of His Own Perversity.

What Mortal Is There, Over Whose First Joys And Happiness Does Not Break Some Storm, Dispelling With Its Icy Breath His Fanciful Illusions, And Shattering His Altar?

Shall Not This Bygone Eden That We Knew In Our Eternal Life Have Shape And Hue? For Where Time Is Not Shall Not All Time Be? In That Calm Breast Whereto Our Souls Are Cleaving Shall We Not Find Our Loved Ones Beyond Grieving About The Hearth-stone Of Eternity?

Grief Knits Two Hearts In Closer Bonds Than Happiness Ever Can; And Common Sufferings Are Far Stronger Links Than Common Joys.

Void Of Freedom, What Would Virtue Be?