One self-approving hour whole years outweighs.
Nothing can be more shocking and horrid than one of our kitchens sprinkled with blood, and abounding with the cries of expiring victims or with the limbs of dead animals scattered or hung up here and there.
The good must merit God's peculiar care; But who but God can tell us who they are?
The flower's are gone when the Fruits appear to ripen.
Monuments, like men, submit to fate.
Happy the man whose wish and care a few paternal acres bound, content to breathe his native air in his own ground.