To Be Good And Disagreeable Is High

The Soul On Earth Is An Immortal Guest, Compelled To Starve At An Unreal Feast: A Spark, Which Upward Tends By Nature's Force: A Stream Diverted From Its Parent Source; A Drop Dissever'd From The Boundless Sea; A Moment, Parted From Eternity; A Pilgrim Panting For The Rest To Come; An Exile, Anxious For His Native Home.

The Ubiquity Of The Divine Presence Is The Only True Support, And I Am Sometimes Astonished How Persons, Who Evidently Do Not Possess That Grand Source Of Consolation, Keep Up Their Spirits Under Trials And Difficulties. It Must Be Owing To Careless Tempers And Nerves Of Brass.

The Roses Of Pleasure Seldom Last Long Enough To Adorn The Brow Of Him Who Plucks Them; For They Are The Only Roses Which Do Not Retain Their Sweetness After They Have Lost Their Beauty.

Rage Is For Little Wrongs; Despair Is Dumb.

The Keen Spirit Seizes The Prompt Occasion.