So upright Quakers please both man and God.

At every trifle take offense, that always shows great pride or little sense.

Our rural ancestors, with little blest, Patient of labor when the end was rest, Indulged the day that housed their annual grain, With feasts, and off'rings, and a thankful strain.

Conceit is to nature what paint is to beauty; it is not only needless, but it impairs what it would improve.

But blind to former as to future fate, what mortal knows his pre-existent state?

Do you find yourself making excuses when you do not perform? Shed the excuses and face reality. Excuses are the loser's way out. They will mar your credibility and stunt your personal growth.

All nature's diff'rence keeps all nature's peace.