What a chimaera then is man, what a novelty, what a monster, what chaos, what a subject of contradiction, what a prodigy! Judge of all things, yet an imbecile earthworm; depository of truth, yet a sewer of uncertainty and error; pride and refuse of the universe. Who shall resolve this tangle?

The mind has its arrangement; it proceeds from principles to demonstrations. The heart has a different mode of proceeding.

Distraction is the only thing that consoles us for our miseries. Yet it is itself the greatest of our miseries.

Nature has some perfections to show that she is the image of God, and some defects to show that she is only His image.

I cannot judge my work while I am doing it. I have to do as painters do, stand back and view it from a distance, but not too great a distance. How great? Guess.

Continuous eloquence is tedious.

The God of Christians is a God of love and comfort, a God who fills the soul and heart of those whom he possesses, a God who makes them conscious of their inward wretchedness, and his infinite mercy; who unites himself to their inmost soul, who fills it with humility and joy, with confidence and love, who renders them incapable of any other end than himself.