Oh for a tongue to curse the slave Whose treason, like a deadly blight, Comes o'er the councils of the brave, And blasts them in their hour of might!

The measure of choosing well, is, whether a man likes and finds good in what he has chosen.

This very night I am going to leave off tobacco! Surely there must be some other world in which this unconquerable purpose shall be realised.

We gain nothing by being with such as ourselves. We encourage one another in mediocrity. I am always longing to be with men more excellent than myself.

The cheerful Sabbath bells, wherever heard, Strike pleasant on the sense, most like the voice Of one, who from the far-off hills proclaims Tidings of good to Zion.

We are nothing; less than nothing, and dreams. We are only what might have been.

Beholding heaven, and feeling hell.