To Love God, Which Was A Thing

For Men Use, If They Have An Evil Turn, To Write It In Marble; And Whoso Doth Us A Good Turn We Write It In Dust.

He Travels Best That Knows When To Return.

One Man To Live In Pleasure And Wealth, Whiles All Other Weap And Smart For It, That Is The Part Not Of A King, But Of A Jailor.

The Utopians Feel That Slaughtering Our Fellow Creatures Gradually Destroys The Sense Of Compassion, Which Is The Finest Sentiment Of Which Our Human Nature Is Capable.

If We Lived In A State Where Virtue Was Profitable, Common Sense Would Make Us Saintly. But Since We See That Avarice, Anger, Pride And Stupidity Commonly Profit Far Beyond Charity, Modesty, Justice And Thought, Perhaps We Must Stand Fast A Little, Even At The Risk Of Being Heroes.