The Artful Injury, Whose Venomed Dart Scarce

No Man Ever Repented Of Being A Christian On His Death Bed.

Since Trifles Make The Sum Of Human Things, And Half Our Misery From Our Foibles Springs; Since Life's Best Joys Consist In Peace And Ease, And Though But Few Can Serve, Yet All May Please; On, Let Th' Ungentle Spirit Learn From Hence, A Small Unkindness Is A Great Offence.

Love Never Reasons, But Profusely Gives, Gives, Like A Thoughtless Prodigal, Its All, And Trembles Then, Lest It Has Done Too Little.

We Are Too Ready To Imagine That We Are Religious, Because We Know Something Of Religion. We Appropriate To Ourselves The Pious Sentiments We Read, And We Talk As If The Thoughts Of Other Men's Heads Were Really The Feelings Of Our Own Hearts. But Piety Has Not Its Seat In The Memory, But In The Affections, For Which However The Memory Is An Excellent Purveyor, Though A Bad Substitute.

... It Is A Most Severe Trial For Those Women To Be Called To Lay Down Beauty, Who Have Nothing Else To Take Up. It Is For This Sober Season Of Life That Education Should Lay Up Its Rich Resources.